What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
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What passing bells for these who die as cattleOnly the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattleCan patter out their hasty orisons.
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There was an artist silly for his face, For it was younger than his youth, last year.
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Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. (Sweet and fitting it is to die for the fatherland)
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Dead men may envy living mites in cheese, Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys, And subdivide, and never come to death.
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'I shall be one with nature, herb, and stone', Shelley would tell me. Shelley wound be stunned:...
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And Death fell with me, like a deepening moan. And He, picking a manner of worm, which half had hid...
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The pallor of girl's brows shall be their pall; Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,...
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I thought of all that worked dark pits Of war, and died Digging the rock where Death reputes Peace lies indeed.
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Heart, you were never hot Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;
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Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
(Sweet and fitting it is to die for the fatherland)
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