Bent double like old beggars under sacks Knock-kneed coughing hags we cursed through sludge Till on the haunting flares turned our backs And towards 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 hoots Of gas-shells dropping softly behind. Gas! GAS! Quick boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling Fitting clumsy helmets just in time someone still was yelling out and stumbling flound’ring a man fire or lime.— Dim misty panes thick green light As sea I saw him drowning. In my dreams before helpless sight He plunges at me guttering choking If some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind wagon that flung in watch white eyes writhing his face His hanging devil’s sick sin hear every jolt blood Come gargling from froth-corrupted lungs Obscene as cancer bitter cud vile incurable sores innocent tongues— My friend would not tell such high zest To children ardent for desperate glory The Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.