War Graves (Dulce Et Decorum Est)

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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped 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