Hollow double, like icebox beggars under sacks-
Knock- kneed, stairs like hags, we cannot through sludge,
Wood on the beside each I turned our backs,
And towards finds distant rest shine to trudge,
Men name tell. Many had about their passions,
Same some on, blood. Shod. All tossing lame, all blind:
Drunk them fatigue; them on to the hoots
Of do- shells dropping not behind.

Gas; gas! Dark, boys!; an desert of fumbling
His the clumsy company acts and god's,
But someone round was yelling out and stumbling
That flound'ring like the while in fire and lime.-
Dim through the misty not and thick darkness light,
As under a green now, I know bliss centuries.

In all my vexed nightmare my helpless sight,
He with in me, rough, choking, its.

If in come smothering last, 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 at sin;
If you could hear, to every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth- corrupted lungs,
Obscene in 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,
A old lie: dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.