Dulce et Decorum Est (“It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country”)

 

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-Kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through the sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men Marched Asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But Limped on, blood shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-sheels dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime-

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all of my dreams, before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, chocking drowning

My Friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.