Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen
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EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
RussianTranscript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
The poem. Don't share. The column is by Wilfred Owen Bed double like old beggars under sacks, knock kneed coughing like hags! We cursed with a sludge, till on the haunting flares we turned our backs and towards our decent rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, but lipped on bloodshot all went lame all blind, drunk with fatigue, deaf even to the hoods of gas shells dropping softly behind gas. Gas quick boys and 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 deemed through the misty panes or thick green light as under a green scene. 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 took good pace behind the wagon, we flunk him in and watch the white eyes breathing in his face, his hanging face like a devil's sick of sin, if you could hear at every jolt, the blood came gargling from the froth, corrupted lungs, obscene as cancer. Beatrice cut of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues. My friend, you will not tell you such high zest to Children ardent for some desperate glory. The old lie don't should contest pro patria mori.