Wilfred Owen Quotes16 of 17 |
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If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from
the froth-corrupted lungs, 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. See Horace 413:23.
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