Dulce Et Decorum Est – Wilfred Owen:
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.
,Dulce Et Decorum Est – Wilfred Owen:
Simile Alliteration
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Simile
Onomatopoeia
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
Euphemism = death
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
“all” = Hyperbole
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Onomatopoeia
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind. “o” sound = Assonance
Contrast
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling Present tense
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
Simile
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime. —
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
Repetition of “green”
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
Simile
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
Present tense
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,
Simile
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
, Onomatopoeia
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Assonance
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
Makes it more personal
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
Oxymoron
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro 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.
,Dulce Et Decorum Est – Wilfred Owen:
Simile Alliteration
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Simile
Onomatopoeia
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
Euphemism = death
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
“all” = Hyperbole
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Onomatopoeia
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind. “o” sound = Assonance
Contrast
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling Present tense
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
Simile
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime. —
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
Repetition of “green”
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
Simile
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
Present tense
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,
Simile
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
, Onomatopoeia
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Assonance
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
Makes it more personal
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
Oxymoron
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
