Tuesday, 11 November 2008

Remembrance


Wilfred Owen

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 disappointed shells 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 floundering 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.

4 Comments:

Blogger Laura said...

Thanks for this Victoria. As hard as this poem is to read, it has always been my favourite poem that I've ever read for its ability to make you understand.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008 2:17:00 pm  
Blogger Victoria said...

Laura, that's always how I've felt about this poem and it's been my favourite war poem just for that reason.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008 2:50:00 pm  
Blogger Elusive Butterfly said...

I was thinking of this poem this morning. Thanks for posting it.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008 5:54:00 pm  
Blogger Victoria said...

Welcome.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008 7:15:00 pm  

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