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Posted by "Donald Schepens" <a.schepens@home.com> on Mon, 6 Nov 2000 12:46:40 -0700
> Dulce et Decorum Est Wilfred Owen
>
>
> "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."
>
>
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> Dulce et Decorum Est Wilfred Owen
>
>
> "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."
>
>
--------------------------------------------------------
NOTE: To remove yourself from this list, send a message
to majordomo@cipherlogic.on.ca from the account you wish
to remove, with the line "unsubscribe army" in the
message body.
