Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
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. 


​«Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori» («Süß und ehrenvoll ist es, fürs Vaterland zu sterben») ist ein Vers aus einer Ode von Horaz (65 - 27 v. Chr.)
​
Wilfried Owen meldete sich 1915 freiwillig für die britische Armee. 1917 kam er traumatisiert ins Lazarett, ging 1918 aber zurück an die Front in Frankreich, wo er eine Woche vor Kriegsende auf dem Schlachtfeld fiel.