"Dulce et Decorum Est" is a poem by the English poet Wilfred Owen. Like most of Owen's work, it was written between August 1917 and September 1918, while he was fighting in World War 1. Owen is known for his wrenching descriptions of suffering in war. In "Dulce et Decorum Est," he illustrates the brutal everyday struggle of a company of soldiers, focuses on the story of one soldier's agonizing death, and discusses the trauma that this event left behind. He uses a quotation from the Roman poet Horace to highlight the difference between the glorious image of war (spread by those not actually fighting in it) and war's horrifying reality.
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1Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
2Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
3Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
4And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
5Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
6But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
7Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
8Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
9Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
10Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
11But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
12And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
13Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
14As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
15In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
16He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
17If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
18Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
19And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
20His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
21If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
22Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
23Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
24Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
25My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
26To children ardent for some desperate glory,
27The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
28Pro patria mori.
1Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
2Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
3Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
4And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
5Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
6But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
7Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
8Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
9Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
10Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
11But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
12And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
13Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
14As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
15In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
16He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
17If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
18Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
19And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
20His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
21If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
22Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
23Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
24Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
25My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
26To children ardent for some desperate glory,
27The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
28Pro 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 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
.
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
Biography of Wilfred Owen — A detailed biographical sketch of Wilfred Owen's life, including analysis of his work.
An Overview of Chemical Warfare — A concise historical account of the development of chemical weapons, with detailed descriptions of the poison gases used in WWI.
Listen to "Dulce et Decorum Est" — A recording of "Dulce et Decorum Est," provided by the Poetry Foundation.
Representing the Great War — The Norton Anthology's overview of literary representation of World War I, with accompanying texts. This includes two of Jessie Pope's patriotic poems, as well as poems by Siegfried Sassoon and others and various contemporary illustrations. It also suggests many additional resources for exploration.
Horace, Ode 3.2 — One translation of the Horace ode that the lines "Dulce et Decorum Est" originally appear in.
Digital Archive of Owen's Life and Work — An archive of scanned documents from Owen's life and work, including his letters, as well as several handwritten drafts of "Dulce et Decorum Est" and other poems.
The White Feather — A brief personal essay about the treatment of conscientious objectors in WWI-era Britain.