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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped 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 I 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.
The French Soldier and His Bayonet
Farewell, my wife, farewell, Marie,
I am going with Rosalie.
You stand, you weep, you look at me—
But you know the rights of Rosalie,
And she calls, the mistress of men like me!
I come, my little Rosalie,
My white-lipped, silent Rosalie,
My thin and hungry Rosalie!
Strange you are to be heard by me.
But I keep my pledge, pale Rosalie!
On the long march you will cling to me
And I shall love you, Rosalie;
And soon you will leap and sing to me
And I shall prove you, Rosalie;
And you will laugh, laugh hungrily
And your lips grow red, my Rosalie;
And you will drink, drink deep with me.
My fearless flushed lithe Rosalie!
Farewell, O faithful far Marie,
I am content with Rosalie.
She is my love and my life to me.
And your lone and my land—my Rosalie!
Go mourn, go mourn in the aisle, Marie,
She lies at my side, red Rosalie!
Go mourn, go mourn and cry for me.
My cry when I die will be ‘Rosalie!’
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