Dulce+et+Decorum+Est+LAM

> 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 I 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. > media type="youtube" key="j0ZW_E4EaSU" height="390" width="480"