57504: Dulce et Decorum Est

<p dir="ltr"> Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,<br> Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,<br> Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs<br> And towards our distant rest began to trudge.<br> Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots<br> But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;<br> Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots<br> Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.<br> Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!---An ecstasy of fumbling,<br> Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;<br> But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,<br> And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...<br> Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,<br> As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.<br> In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,<br> He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.<br> If in some smothering dreams you too could pace<br> Behind the wagon that we flung him in,<br> And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,<br> His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;<br> If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood<br> Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,<br> Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud<br> Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, ---<br> My friend, you would not tell with such high zest<br> To children ardent for some desperate glory,<br> The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est<br> Pro patria mori.</p>