Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through
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 hoots
Of gas shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone was still yelling our and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man of fire or lime. . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon the we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
Hs hanging face, like a devils sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the forth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, -
My friend, you would not tell at such high zest
For children ardent from some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et Decorum Est
Pro Patria Mori
