Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. You can also use the up (↑) and down (↓) arrows to move a line one place at a time, or the top (⇑) and bottom (⇓) arrows to move a line directly to the top or bottom. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
Easy Mode - Auto check enabled
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
Pro patria mori.
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
🎉 Congratulations! 🎉
You've successfully reconstructed the poem! Your understanding of poetry and attention to detail is impressive.
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 the hoots Of gas-shells 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 my dreams before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes 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 as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,— 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.