If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling…
Questions
If yоu cоuld heаr, аt every jоlt, the blood Come gаrgling 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.