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.