Analysis Disabled by Wilfred Owen

He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,

And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,

Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park

Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,

Voices of play and pleasure after day,

Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.

About this time Town used to swing so gay

When glow-lamps budded in the light-blue trees
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,

 — In the old times, before he threw away his knees.

 Now he will never feel again how slim
Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,
 All of them touch him like some queer disease.

  

There was an artist silly for his face,

 For it was younger than his youth, last year.

Now he is old; his back will never brace;

He's lost his colour very far from here

Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,

 And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,

And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.

One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,
After the matches carried shoulder-high.
It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,
He thought he'd better join. He wonders why . . .

Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts.
That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,
 Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,
 He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;
Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.

 Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fears
 Of Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hilts
 For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
 And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
 Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.

And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.

Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.
Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
Thanked him; and then inquired about his soul.

Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,

And do what things the rules consider wise,  

And take whatever pity they may dole.  

To-night he noticed how the women's eyes

Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.

How cold and late it is! Why don't they come

And put him into bed? Why don't they come?
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This poem is pretty negative/disappointed/pessimistic whatever you want to  call it. 

This is shown by several phrases. "queer diseases" , "shivered in his ghastly suit of grey", "he will never feel.."

Some of the stanzas are optimistic, at least, he thought they were optimistic.  They were about the army, before joining them. "No fears of fear came yet"

When he'd joined the army, he wished he had not lied about this age to join the army and he wished he never joined the army at all.


The contrasts used are:
disabled vs. healthy
whole vs. broken
cheered to war vs. cheered home
youth vs. old
truth vs. lie


A lot of rhyme is used in this poem. Also, metaphor ("threw away his knees"), personification ("Town used to swing so gay"), simile ("he'd look a god") and alliteration ("smart salutes") is used.