Wilfred Owen Dulce et Decorum Est / Poems from the Great War

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Wilfred Owen Dulce et Decorum Est / Poems from the Great War

Remembering Our Fallen Remembering Our Heroes

Poems from the Great War World War

Poetry Wilfred Owen

Dulce et Decorum Est

Narrated by Stephen Robert Kuta As part of our remembrance day services and in memory of our brave soldiers that fell during the Great War, we have narrated this war poem by Wilfred Owen This piece is one of my favourite Wilfred Owen Poems In memory and with love Lest we Forget

Forget

  • Published: 8 November 2021
  • Location: London, England
  • Duration: 2:23
  • Photography – Stephen Robert Kuta / Yhana Kuta
  • Written by – Stephen Robert Kuta

Music –

Music Licensed by Epidemic Sound

Wilfred Owen Dulce et Decorum Est / Poems from the Great War

Remembering Our Fallen Remembering Our Heroes

Poems from the Great War World War

Poetry Wilfred Owen

Dulce et Decorum Est

Narrated by Stephen Robert Kuta As part of our remembrance day services and in memory of our brave soldiers that fell during the Great War, we have narrated this war poem by Wilfred Owen This piece is one of my favourite Wilfred Owen Poems In memory and with love Lest we Forget

Poems from the Great War

Dulce et Decorum Est By 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 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 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.

#dulceetdecorumest

#poemsfromthegreatwar

#wilfredowen#lestweforget


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