Dulce et Decorum Est
Wilfred Owen
1893 to 1918
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Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing ______ hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting ______ we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest ______ to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
______ with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells ______ softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of ______
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone ______ was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a ______ in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty ______ and thick green light,
As under a green sea, ______ saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my ______ sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If ______ some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the ______ that we flung him in,
And watch the white ______ writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene ______ cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores ______ innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell ______ such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.