Dulce et Decorum Est

The March

¹Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

²Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

³Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

⁴And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

⁵Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

⁶But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

⁷Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

⁸Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

The Gas Attack

⁹Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling

¹⁰Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

¹¹But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

¹²And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. —

¹³Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

¹⁴As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

¹⁵In all my dreams before my helpless sight,

¹⁶He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

The Old Lie

¹⁷If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

¹⁸Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

¹⁹And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

²⁰His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;

²¹If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

²²Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

²³Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

²⁴Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, —

²⁵My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

²⁶To children ardent for some desperate glory,

²⁷The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

²⁸Pro patria mori.