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.
When I first read this Wilfred Owen poem at school I assumed (and don't recall being told otherwise) that the second person address that begins in the final stanza (
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace / Behind the wagon that we flung him in) was simply directed at a generic 'reader' who might harbour Romantic ideas about warfare.
It fascinated me to later discover that it's actually very specifically addressed to a female poet called Jessie Pope, whose jingoistic 'recruiting' verse was widely published in British newspapers of the time. This sort of thing...
Who's for the Game?
Who’s for the game, the biggest that’s played,
The red crashing game of a fight?
Who’ll grip and tackle the job unafraid?
And who thinks he’d rather sit tight?
Who’ll toe the line for the signal to ‘Go!’?
Who’ll give his country a hand?
Who wants a turn to himself in the show?
And who wants a seat in the stand?
Who knows it won’t be a picnic – not much-
Yet eagerly shoulders a gun?
Who would much rather come back with a crutch
Than lie low and be out of the fun?
Come along, lads –
But you’ll come on all right –
For there’s only one course to pursue,
Your country is up to her neck in a fight,
And she’s looking and calling for you.
The original handwritten manuscript has the words 'To Jessie Pope etc' scrawled at the top. Fascinating stuff.
https://www.bl.uk/world-war-one/vide...et-decorum-est
Edit: the academic in the video doesn't actually mention the Jessie Pope dedication but if you pause at about 35 seconds you clearly see 'to Jessie Pope etc' which is crossed out and replaced with 'to a certain Poetess'