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Dulce et Decorum Est
Dulce et Decorum est is a poem written by poet Wilfred Owen in 1917, during World War I, and published posthumously in 1920. Owen's poem is known for its horrific imagery and condemnation of war. It was drafted at Craiglockhart in the first half of October 1917 and later revised, probably at Scarborough but possibly Ripon, between January and March 1918.
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First published October 8, 1917
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About the author
Wilfred Owen
175 books234 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the goodreads data base.
Wilfred Owen was a defining voice of British poetry during the First World War, renowned for his stark portrayals of trench warfare and gas attacks. Deeply influenced by Siegfried Sassoon, whom he met while recovering from shell shock, Owen’s work departed from the patriotic war verse of the time, instead conveying the brutal reality of combat and the suffering of soldiers. Among his best-known poems are Dulce et Decorum est, Anthem for Doomed Youth, and Strange Meeting—many of which were published only after his death.
Born in 1893 in Shropshire, Owen developed an early passion for poetry and religion, both of which would shape his artistic and moral worldview. He worked as a teacher and spent time in France before enlisting in the British Army in 1915. After a traumatic experience at the front, he was treated for shell shock at Craiglockhart War Hospital, where Sassoon’s mentorship helped refine his poetic voice.
Owen returned to active service in 1918, determined to bear witness to the horrors of war. He was killed in action just one week before the Armistice. Though only a few of his poems were published during his lifetime, his posthumous collections cemented his legacy as one of the greatest war poets in English literature. His work continues to be studied for its powerful combination of romantic lyricism and brutal realism, as well as its complex engagement with themes of faith, duty, and identity.
Wilfred Owen was a defining voice of British poetry during the First World War, renowned for his stark portrayals of trench warfare and gas attacks. Deeply influenced by Siegfried Sassoon, whom he met while recovering from shell shock, Owen’s work departed from the patriotic war verse of the time, instead conveying the brutal reality of combat and the suffering of soldiers. Among his best-known poems are Dulce et Decorum est, Anthem for Doomed Youth, and Strange Meeting—many of which were published only after his death.
Born in 1893 in Shropshire, Owen developed an early passion for poetry and religion, both of which would shape his artistic and moral worldview. He worked as a teacher and spent time in France before enlisting in the British Army in 1915. After a traumatic experience at the front, he was treated for shell shock at Craiglockhart War Hospital, where Sassoon’s mentorship helped refine his poetic voice.
Owen returned to active service in 1918, determined to bear witness to the horrors of war. He was killed in action just one week before the Armistice. Though only a few of his poems were published during his lifetime, his posthumous collections cemented his legacy as one of the greatest war poets in English literature. His work continues to be studied for its powerful combination of romantic lyricism and brutal realism, as well as its complex engagement with themes of faith, duty, and identity.
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March 5, 2018
One of the hardest-hitting anti-war poems ever written, by Wilfred Owen, who had reason to know. Owen served in the British military in WWI, and wrote this poem in 1917-18 about the horrors of war, especially gas warfare. His vivid descriptions of horrible suffering by the soldiers, and the underwater-like imagery of the poisonous chlorine gas, have stuck with me for a lifetime. He turns Horace's famous Latin phrase "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori" ("It is sweet and proper to die for one's country") on its head.
Wilfred Owen died in battle in France in November 1918, one week before the signing of the Armistice that ended WWI. This poem was published posthumously in 1920.
Dulce et Decorum Est
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.
Wilfred Owen died in battle in France in November 1918, one week before the signing of the Armistice that ended WWI. This poem was published posthumously in 1920.
Dulce et Decorum Est
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.
March 2, 2018
A lyrically despondent masterpiece. One of the bitterest, truest poems I've read. The high-minded words laid in juxtaposition to the mud-clotted earthy brutality of war is just shattering.
September 15, 2018
Heavy poetic insights into one of the darkest times of human history. Wilfred Owen's poetry is not difficult to understand; its sparsity and simplicity clearly and beautifully paint a dark and troubling picture of World War I.
December 28, 2022
According to GR ratings 5 stars is for 'it was amazing'.
This poem does not create amazement in my heart.
It creates bloody ANGER.
ANGER at the waste, at the futility,
at the senselessness of great strokes
of genius like the Great Push.
And most of all ANGER at the sheer effrontery
of pushing the lie
Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.
(It is sweet and honorable, to die for one's country.)
such bullshit.
This poem does not create amazement in my heart.
It creates bloody ANGER.
ANGER at the waste, at the futility,
at the senselessness of great strokes
of genius like the Great Push.
And most of all ANGER at the sheer effrontery
of pushing the lie
Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.
(It is sweet and honorable, to die for one's country.)
such bullshit.
January 23, 2013
This, one of the most famous poems of World War I and one of the most famous anti-war poems ever. It was written after a particularly cruel gas attack (at this time biological warfare was not yet illegal). Owen decided he had to write on it.
"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."
This poem brings to my mind a more saddened fact. We don't think much of WWI now a days (at least in the USA; its a little different in the UK, some of its Commonwealth partners and France) because of its bigger sequel. But to us literature buffs and lovers here on this site we should feel with heavy heart how devastating this war was to western literature. If you go back and read some of the poems and prose written by the casualties of this war you realize that as amazing and poignant as literature was post-WWI (impart because said war) who knows how much greater it would have been if so many of the talented writers and artist had not perished as a result of this war. To me it was one of the sad effects of this war that has in some ways endured.
"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."
For those curious the title line and quote at the end is from Horace's Odes. It translates into english as: "It is sweet and right to die for your country." That refrain has in our time of modern warfare become a very ironic one.
"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."
This poem brings to my mind a more saddened fact. We don't think much of WWI now a days (at least in the USA; its a little different in the UK, some of its Commonwealth partners and France) because of its bigger sequel. But to us literature buffs and lovers here on this site we should feel with heavy heart how devastating this war was to western literature. If you go back and read some of the poems and prose written by the casualties of this war you realize that as amazing and poignant as literature was post-WWI (impart because said war) who knows how much greater it would have been if so many of the talented writers and artist had not perished as a result of this war. To me it was one of the sad effects of this war that has in some ways endured.
"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."
For those curious the title line and quote at the end is from Horace's Odes. It translates into english as: "It is sweet and right to die for your country." That refrain has in our time of modern warfare become a very ironic one.
January 27, 2018
This is my absolute favorite poem!
First read it in my English Lit class and I was pretty much stunned...
Dulce Et Decorum Est is such a powerful poem, depicting the tragedy of young and faceless soldiers dying during WW1, opposing the other literature of the time that would describe the war as something glorious and beautiful.
Wilfred Owen skillfully uses imagery and sounds, easily drawing the reader into the moment.
The latin phrase used as title is taken from the Roman poet Horace, and the full line is "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori" which translates to something along the lines of "it is sweet and honorable to die for ones country". Ironically, the title simply reads "It is sweet and honorable", something many young soldiers and their families were told, while the poem itself shows the horrifying and heartbreaking truth of the war. WW1, or any war for that matter, is not sweet and honorable. Losing your life for someone else's cause is neither sweet nor honorable.
I'll stop the ranting, and just quickly point out that this was my "gate-way poem", if I may, introducing me to the possibility of enjoying poetry
First read it in my English Lit class and I was pretty much stunned...
Dulce Et Decorum Est is such a powerful poem, depicting the tragedy of young and faceless soldiers dying during WW1, opposing the other literature of the time that would describe the war as something glorious and beautiful.
Wilfred Owen skillfully uses imagery and sounds, easily drawing the reader into the moment.
The latin phrase used as title is taken from the Roman poet Horace, and the full line is "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori" which translates to something along the lines of "it is sweet and honorable to die for ones country". Ironically, the title simply reads "It is sweet and honorable", something many young soldiers and their families were told, while the poem itself shows the horrifying and heartbreaking truth of the war. WW1, or any war for that matter, is not sweet and honorable. Losing your life for someone else's cause is neither sweet nor honorable.
I'll stop the ranting, and just quickly point out that this was my "gate-way poem", if I may, introducing me to the possibility of enjoying poetry
July 2, 2025
No one reveals the brutal, inhumane truths of war quite like Wilfred Owen. It’s no wonder he’s remembered as the greatest war poet — his words have survived history and still strike the soul with the same force today.
And oh, how he denounces it — that old lie. The noble-sounding slogans, the glorified myths of dying for one’s country. Owen doesn’t just challenge them — he shatters them.
Every time I read this poem, it tears me apart. It clenches my heart and fills it with sorrow for every young boy dragged into that hell — boys who were thrown into nightmarish, terrifying moments no one should ever have to witness, let alone die in. Their pain feels personal, immediate.
What Owen gives us is more than a poem — it’s a vivid, breathless moment captured in ink. You don’t just read it; you see it. Feel it. You’re there, gasping with the dying soldier, watching helplessly as the gas eats away his life. It grips your chest, leaves a lump in your throat, sometimes even tears in your eyes.
There’s no romance here. No glory. Just the truth — raw, devastating, and unforgettable.
Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori…
And oh, how he denounces it — that old lie. The noble-sounding slogans, the glorified myths of dying for one’s country. Owen doesn’t just challenge them — he shatters them.
Every time I read this poem, it tears me apart. It clenches my heart and fills it with sorrow for every young boy dragged into that hell — boys who were thrown into nightmarish, terrifying moments no one should ever have to witness, let alone die in. Their pain feels personal, immediate.
What Owen gives us is more than a poem — it’s a vivid, breathless moment captured in ink. You don’t just read it; you see it. Feel it. You’re there, gasping with the dying soldier, watching helplessly as the gas eats away his life. It grips your chest, leaves a lump in your throat, sometimes even tears in your eyes.
There’s no romance here. No glory. Just the truth — raw, devastating, and unforgettable.
February 17, 2025
It’s brutal, raw, and it absolutely shatters the illusion of war as some noble pursuit. Owen doesn't just describe the horrors of war—he forces you to confront them. The imagery is intense, horrifying, and vivid.
Owen’s message is powerful and clear: War isn't heroic, it's horrific. The poem doesn’t just try to evoke pity—it forces you to understand the true cost of war, to the point where you might lose your lunch reading it. That’s the mark of great poetry.
The only reason it’s not a 10,000/10 is because, well, that might be a bit too much for a poem. But you get my point. It’s a masterpiece.
Owen’s message is powerful and clear: War isn't heroic, it's horrific. The poem doesn’t just try to evoke pity—it forces you to understand the true cost of war, to the point where you might lose your lunch reading it. That’s the mark of great poetry.
The only reason it’s not a 10,000/10 is because, well, that might be a bit too much for a poem. But you get my point. It’s a masterpiece.
December 19, 2018
Great poem with a very clever use of language to portray the thoughts of war. The title 'Dulce et Decorum Est' translates to it is sweet and honourable...' which in the poem is ended with 'Pro patria mori' (to die for one's country) this is demonstrating the real undertake of war and that it is not what we people were told at the time. I think it is an excellent book which I would aim towards 13/14 and for all ages above due to the thriller type story and deep explanation of the injures and sights at war.
December 19, 2018
Very nice poem with some insight into what soldiers on the front line have experienced first hand. I liked it a lot as the story was very scary and it mad me as the reader think what was happening. The ending was questionable as the last line was a lie to all the people who thought that war was a glorious affair. I recommend this to other 13-14 year olds such as myself
July 10, 2014
" The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
pro patria mori."
pro patria mori."
February 25, 2016
short poem about WW1
favorite quotes:
"And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime..."
"The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori."
favorite quotes:
"And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime..."
"The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori."
February 28, 2019
In my mind, it is a heart-breaking and tragic short movie.
January 12, 2023
“Dulce et Decorum Est” by Wilfred Owen entails a soldier narrating his first-hand experience of war and the reality that he wrestles with. The diction was compelling and the manner of how the poet depicted violence and carnage in a war through the use of imagery. “But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind”, witnessing the tragedy of death and loss, of not only his comrades but hisself. The persona also is haunted by an emotional conflict in his dreams, “He plunges at me guttering, choking, drowning.” Evidently suffering from not being able to recognize his enemy.
In Lines 25-28, irony was used as it can be suggested that they initially believed that their courage and sacrifice was worth taking for their country, families and the world that they are all too familiar with. To children ardent for some desperate glory”, conveying a sentiment of glory and honor and how it is a beautiful thing to “serve” one’s country. However, war only condones cruelty and what it means to be inhumane. It harms, it takes and it burns. It alludes the horrifying truth and reality of the experiences of a soldier, and mirrors the children that they once were, with the same desperate glory, the pain to be reimbursed in this cycle of confusion, loss and helplessness.
The phrase “Dulce et Decorum Est” which is made clear by the end of the poem that it is a sweet lie translated as “It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.” The author implied this phrase as a lie as “serving one’s country” as war will not give a sense of fulfillment to a soldier, rather they are used merely as a pawn and their deaths play as a mishap to those in power. The imbalance of the leaders who possess power to influence their people to fight their wars, to sacrifice and honor those who came before you and those that will come after. It symbolizes a lie that is fed in order to hide an impenetrable truth.
In Lines 25-28, irony was used as it can be suggested that they initially believed that their courage and sacrifice was worth taking for their country, families and the world that they are all too familiar with. To children ardent for some desperate glory”, conveying a sentiment of glory and honor and how it is a beautiful thing to “serve” one’s country. However, war only condones cruelty and what it means to be inhumane. It harms, it takes and it burns. It alludes the horrifying truth and reality of the experiences of a soldier, and mirrors the children that they once were, with the same desperate glory, the pain to be reimbursed in this cycle of confusion, loss and helplessness.
The phrase “Dulce et Decorum Est” which is made clear by the end of the poem that it is a sweet lie translated as “It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.” The author implied this phrase as a lie as “serving one’s country” as war will not give a sense of fulfillment to a soldier, rather they are used merely as a pawn and their deaths play as a mishap to those in power. The imbalance of the leaders who possess power to influence their people to fight their wars, to sacrifice and honor those who came before you and those that will come after. It symbolizes a lie that is fed in order to hide an impenetrable truth.
Read
April 11, 2024read/listened to this poem for my English class twice this year!
November 8, 2025
The last two poems we read in class were rateable and worthy of five stars.
March 18, 2020
‘Dulce et Decorum est pro Patria Mori’ is an excerpt from Horace. It means that it is charming to go to meet your maker for the sake of your country. This precept has been everlastingly handed down to generations across centuries. When bards and academics have all overvalued war, nationalism has purely meant giving up one's life for one's country.
The title is deceptive and its meaning does not become clear till the last line of the poem.
The revulsion and disappointment of war makes the title an adept sarcasm. Owen seeks to transmit the point that the terrors of war far outweighs the jingoistic emotions of those who eulogize and put ‘war’ on a hyped pedestal, despite never having been near a battlefield. It brings out Owen's sullenness against all these people, as he has seen the agony caused by war personally.
The poem starts off with an assemblage of dispirited, battle-weary soldiers returning from the front lines to their bunkers after a hard day's hostility. They are a wretched sight, "Bent double, like old beggars under sacks". The poet is one of them. They can scarcely walk. Their knees are thumping in concert and the smoulder of gunfire makes them cough like elderly women.
They swear and hurl expletives as they make their way through swampy ground, turning their backs "on the haunting flares". They are so dead-beat that they seeme to be walking in slumber. Many of the soldiers have lost their boots and their feet are showing signs of hemorrhage as they hobble onward. They are blinded and seem to be intoxicated as they walk precariously due to exhaustion. They are hearing-impaired even to the resonance of bombs setting off behind them. In effect, they are more dead than alive.
Unexpectedly an alarm is sounded, "Gas! Gas! Quick boys!". They realise that they are under a gas attack, maybe a lethal chlorine gas attack (this was used for the first time in the First World War). Despite their drowsiness they speedily try to put on their helmets or gas masks to guard themselves from the attack. The poet uses the words: "an ecstasy of fumbling" to depict the soldiers' frantic effort to fit their gas masks eventually to save themselves.
The helmets are maladroit because proper protection against gas attacks had not been developed then, and the soldiers have to make do with sub-standard protection equipments.
One soldier, possibly too weary to be rapid enough to put on the helmet in time falls prey to the gas attack and his suffering is horrifying to perceive. He is "yelling out and stumbling, “And floundering like a man in fire or lime".
The poet sees him indistinctly "through the misty panes" of his own helmet and the "thick green light" which is typical of this poisonous gas. It seems to the poet as if the soldier is drowning "under a green sea", the dense green fog created by the gas when it is released in the air.
This is such a gruesome spectacle that it becomes a nightmarish experience for the poet.
In all his dreams, "before my helpless sight", the poet sees the man plummeting at him as if asking for aid while the effect of the gas makes him choke, his breath coming in a guttering manner as if he is drowning. This graphically shows us the effect of the gas.
Even worse is the lingering, painful death that the gas causes.
The poet shows us this picture by saying that if we, the readers or those people who glorify war, could see the effects of war on young innocent boys who became soldiers for the glory of serving their motherland; we would also be horrified and be struck with pity.
They load the fading soldier on a cart and walk after him and the poet asks us to share the awful vista of the young soldier's "white eyes writhing in his face” because of his cavernous pain and anguish.
His face looks "like a devil's sick of sin" entailing that even the devil himself would be mortified to mete out such suffering. As the wagon moves, with every jerk, blood comes gushing from the “froth-corrupted lungs”. The soldier's situation is as pitiable as a person suffering from cancer who develops "incurable sores on his “innocent tongue”. The tongues are naive because most of the soldiers are young boys whose lives have just about begun before they are killed in this awful and brutal manner.
The poet ironically addresses everyone glorifying warfare as "My friend", and says that if these people sitting contentedly and unharmed at home could have seen the contemptible sight of the dying soldier they would not tell with such passion to children "ardent for some desperate glory" the age-old untruth that it is sweet and fitting, to die for one's country.
Owen's war poems are a result of his own war experiences. He saw the repulsion and desolation, the dilapidation and torment, both physical and mental, that war caused and his affirmed endeavor was to represent the shame of war through his poetry. 'Dulce et Decorum Est' is one of his most uncompromising anti-war poems.
The title is deceptive and its meaning does not become clear till the last line of the poem.
The revulsion and disappointment of war makes the title an adept sarcasm. Owen seeks to transmit the point that the terrors of war far outweighs the jingoistic emotions of those who eulogize and put ‘war’ on a hyped pedestal, despite never having been near a battlefield. It brings out Owen's sullenness against all these people, as he has seen the agony caused by war personally.
The poem starts off with an assemblage of dispirited, battle-weary soldiers returning from the front lines to their bunkers after a hard day's hostility. They are a wretched sight, "Bent double, like old beggars under sacks". The poet is one of them. They can scarcely walk. Their knees are thumping in concert and the smoulder of gunfire makes them cough like elderly women.
They swear and hurl expletives as they make their way through swampy ground, turning their backs "on the haunting flares". They are so dead-beat that they seeme to be walking in slumber. Many of the soldiers have lost their boots and their feet are showing signs of hemorrhage as they hobble onward. They are blinded and seem to be intoxicated as they walk precariously due to exhaustion. They are hearing-impaired even to the resonance of bombs setting off behind them. In effect, they are more dead than alive.
Unexpectedly an alarm is sounded, "Gas! Gas! Quick boys!". They realise that they are under a gas attack, maybe a lethal chlorine gas attack (this was used for the first time in the First World War). Despite their drowsiness they speedily try to put on their helmets or gas masks to guard themselves from the attack. The poet uses the words: "an ecstasy of fumbling" to depict the soldiers' frantic effort to fit their gas masks eventually to save themselves.
The helmets are maladroit because proper protection against gas attacks had not been developed then, and the soldiers have to make do with sub-standard protection equipments.
One soldier, possibly too weary to be rapid enough to put on the helmet in time falls prey to the gas attack and his suffering is horrifying to perceive. He is "yelling out and stumbling, “And floundering like a man in fire or lime".
The poet sees him indistinctly "through the misty panes" of his own helmet and the "thick green light" which is typical of this poisonous gas. It seems to the poet as if the soldier is drowning "under a green sea", the dense green fog created by the gas when it is released in the air.
This is such a gruesome spectacle that it becomes a nightmarish experience for the poet.
In all his dreams, "before my helpless sight", the poet sees the man plummeting at him as if asking for aid while the effect of the gas makes him choke, his breath coming in a guttering manner as if he is drowning. This graphically shows us the effect of the gas.
Even worse is the lingering, painful death that the gas causes.
The poet shows us this picture by saying that if we, the readers or those people who glorify war, could see the effects of war on young innocent boys who became soldiers for the glory of serving their motherland; we would also be horrified and be struck with pity.
They load the fading soldier on a cart and walk after him and the poet asks us to share the awful vista of the young soldier's "white eyes writhing in his face” because of his cavernous pain and anguish.
His face looks "like a devil's sick of sin" entailing that even the devil himself would be mortified to mete out such suffering. As the wagon moves, with every jerk, blood comes gushing from the “froth-corrupted lungs”. The soldier's situation is as pitiable as a person suffering from cancer who develops "incurable sores on his “innocent tongue”. The tongues are naive because most of the soldiers are young boys whose lives have just about begun before they are killed in this awful and brutal manner.
The poet ironically addresses everyone glorifying warfare as "My friend", and says that if these people sitting contentedly and unharmed at home could have seen the contemptible sight of the dying soldier they would not tell with such passion to children "ardent for some desperate glory" the age-old untruth that it is sweet and fitting, to die for one's country.
Owen's war poems are a result of his own war experiences. He saw the repulsion and desolation, the dilapidation and torment, both physical and mental, that war caused and his affirmed endeavor was to represent the shame of war through his poetry. 'Dulce et Decorum Est' is one of his most uncompromising anti-war poems.
August 5, 2024
4.5⭐
Wars are heartbreakingly sad and never flowery. However, having/maintaining/keeping peace kind of demands it. Humans just make it worse. This piece is reality in words for the masses.
Wars are heartbreakingly sad and never flowery. However, having/maintaining/keeping peace kind of demands it. Humans just make it worse. This piece is reality in words for the masses.
December 6, 2025
Sooooo good.
May 29, 2020
read for school yr 11
July 21, 2016
Dulce Et Decorum Est
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 disappointed shells 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 floundering 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.
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 disappointed shells 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 floundering 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.
July 6, 2015
As the years trudge on, one by one, the living memories of Europe's first blight flicker and fade into darkness. Yet sometimes their flames still impress some painful reminiscence of this great culling of yore on the minds of those fortunate souls who had the fortune of being born to a Europe of cold ashes and healing scars. And once again, as in every generation, young cretins call out for the glories of war, blissfully unaware of the horrors of rusted steel, torn flesh and red ichor, the wails of the widowed and the cries of orphans. The enemies may change, the butcher's toolkit expand, but conquest, war, famine and death recognize their trade well enough. It is the lecture of Wilfred Owen's "Dulce and Decorum Est", one of those burning memories narrating the fury of war in all its awful detail, which I would like to intimate upon each and every one in the crowd of foolhardy warmongers, to see whether they still have a stomach for war once Owen's penmanship comes reaching for them from the paper, or rather from beyond the grave.
November 14, 2018
I have bought every book in Martin Impey and Hilary Robinson’s superb World War One series and I was intrigued to see how Mr Impey’s remarkable talent would breath life into Wilfred Owen’s tragic words. I wasn’t disappointed.
Strauss House Productions have excelled themselves in producing a stunning and beautiful book.
Much darker in tone than the earlier books Mr Impey’s illustrations carry us back to that awful period of history when so many young men laid down their lives in the name of freedom. Having lost my great uncle in the conflict I realised, perhaps for the first time, what a living hell he went through before his death on the Somme in 1916. I can honestly say that the words, combined with the cruelly beautiful illustration, brought a tear to my eye.
I can’t recommend this book highly enough. It should be made available to every place of learning in the land so that can be studied by this and future generations so that they do not make the same mistakes as our forefathers. A brilliant effort by all concerned with the production of this epic work.
Strauss House Productions have excelled themselves in producing a stunning and beautiful book.
Much darker in tone than the earlier books Mr Impey’s illustrations carry us back to that awful period of history when so many young men laid down their lives in the name of freedom. Having lost my great uncle in the conflict I realised, perhaps for the first time, what a living hell he went through before his death on the Somme in 1916. I can honestly say that the words, combined with the cruelly beautiful illustration, brought a tear to my eye.
I can’t recommend this book highly enough. It should be made available to every place of learning in the land so that can be studied by this and future generations so that they do not make the same mistakes as our forefathers. A brilliant effort by all concerned with the production of this epic work.
May 18, 2017
I believe this is one of the best poems describing World War I. Owen actually witnessed one of his fellow soldiers dying from the poisonous gas. This caused Owen to develop shell shock as he suffered from horrible nightmares remembering the face of his dying friend. He is addressing this poem to all of the war supporters back at home. When he says "my friend" he is specifically addressing Jessie Pope, a woman in support of men enlisting. Owen wanted the world to know the truth of the war, and I appreciate his poems and service.
August 17, 2023
"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."
There is nothing left to say...
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."
There is nothing left to say...
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 5, 2014
the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
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. One of the best anti-war poems I have read ....
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
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. One of the best anti-war poems I have read ....
March 4, 2018
An amazing poem I never want to forget. Even after all the years that have passed since WWI, I find myself both entranced and embittered by it. The great loss of life, of culture, of society, of marriages and children that could never be - and for what?
October 9, 2022
Love the anti-war stance. Also this beautiful combination of words: an ecstasy of fumbling.
Read as part of Graphic Canon Vol. 3, but wanted to mark this so the poem could be easily be reread and experienced in a different way.
Read as part of Graphic Canon Vol. 3, but wanted to mark this so the poem could be easily be reread and experienced in a different way.
April 18, 2019
One of the most beautiful poem. You could feel the ugly feelings that Owen had felt while he was at the war. He suffered from shell shock which also made this poem more special in my opinion.
- It not sweet and proper to die for one country.
- It not sweet and proper to die for one country.
July 8, 2015
I found this poem particularly interesting due to the background that Owen had with CraigLockhart hospital and with Seigfried Sassoon
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