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.
YOU ARE READING
𝘿𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩- 𝙰 𝙿𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗
Thơ caAn anthology of some of my favorite poems. Expect a lot of Edgar Allan Poe and World War I poetry. All credit for poems go to the orginal authors.