{"id":128,"date":"2010-01-28T01:03:07","date_gmt":"2010-01-28T01:03:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/?p=128"},"modified":"2017-07-12T01:28:39","modified_gmt":"2017-07-12T01:28:39","slug":"dulce-et-decorum-est-wilfred-owen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/dulce-et-decorum-est-wilfred-owen\/","title":{"rendered":"Dulce Et Decorum Est–Wilfred Owen"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
\nKnock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
\nTill on the haunting flares we turned our backs
\nAnd towards our distant rest began to trudge.
\nMen marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
\nBut limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
\nDrunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
\nOf disappointed shells that dropped behind.<\/p>\n

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!– An ecstasy of fumbling,
\nFitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
\nBut someone still was yelling out and stumbling
\nAnd floundering like a man in fire or lime.–
\nDim, through the misty panes and thick green light
\nAs under a green sea, I saw him drowning.<\/p>\n

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
\nHe plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.<\/p>\n

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
\nBehind the wagon that we flung him in,
\nAnd watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
\nHis hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
\nIf you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
\nCome gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
\nObscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
\nOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
\nMy friend, you would not tell with such high zest
\nTo children ardent for some desperate glory,
\nThe old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
\nPro patria mori.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Wilfred Owen was born at Oswestry on 18th March 1893<\/p>\n

A month before his death he wrote to his mother: “My nerves are in perfect order. I came out again in order to help these boys; directly, by leading them as well as an officer can; indirectly, by watching their sufferings that I may speak of them as well as a pleader can.” Let his own words be his epitaph:?<\/p>\n

“Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
\n Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery.”<\/p>\n

~Siegfried Sassoon<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,426],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-128","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-1800s","category-war-poems"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t