Minichan

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

It is double-sided, like old beggars under pockets,
To the knees, cough like an animal, he cursed us through the mud,
So we chased the fire back,
And toward our distant comfort I began to walk in agony.
The men walked off to sleep. Many have lost their shoes,
But limp, wearing blood. They all went lame. They are all blind;
Drunk and tired. Deaf to yell
The gas cylinders fall gently.

Gas! GAS! Fast guys! - Shining behavior
Cluster hats are timely,
But someone was screaming and stumbling
And run like a man on fire or mortar.
Shrink through foggy windows with thick green light,
As if it was beneath a deep green sea, I saw him slip.

In all my dreams before my stubborn eyes,
He pointed me, sliding, straining, and sinking.

If in other offensive dreams, you can too
In the back of the car we threw,
And he looked at his white eyes shining in his face,
His face is suspended, like a demon who is sick of sin;
If you feel, with all the shock, blood
Come feed the damaged lungs,
Breath like cancer, pain like cud
An incurable and non-healing wound on innocent tongues,
My friend, I will not speak with such enthusiasm
To inspire children to the glory they deserve,
Old lie: substance and ornament
Pro Patria Mori