Was it for this the clay grew tall?
Wilfred OwenRead
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.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote critiques the glorification of dying for one's country, exposing the harsh realities of warfare.
Wilfred Owen's quote vividly describes the horrors of war, contrasting the romanticized notion of dying for one's country with the brutal and grotesque truth faced by soldiers. Through stark imagery, Owen emphasizes the agony and suffering that war inflicts on individuals, arguing that it is a falsehood to cherish the idea of honorable death in battle. The phrase 'Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori' translates to 'It is sweet and honorable to die for one's country,' which Owen condemns as a lie that misleads the young and eager to fight.
Themes
WarSacrificeTruthDeathGlorySuffering
In practice
Example use cases
In a speech about the consequences of war during a memorial event.
More from Wilfred Owen
All quotes βAs bronze may be much beautified by lying in the dark damp soil, so men who fade in dust of warfare fade fairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.
Wilfred OwenRead
We were marooned in a frozen desert. There was not a sign of life on the horizon and a thousand signs of death... The marvel is we did not all die of cold.
Wilfred OwenRead
Futility Move him into the sun - Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields unsown. Always it woke him, even in France, Until this morning and this snow. If anything might rouse him now The kind old sun will know. Think how it wakes the seeds, - Woke, once, the clays of a cold star. Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides, Full-nerved -still warm -too hard to stir? Was it for this the clay grew tall? -O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all?
Wilfred OwenRead
The old Lie:Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.
Wilfred OwenRead
Winter Song The browns, the olives, and the yellows died, And were swept up to heaven; where they glowed Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide, And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed, Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed and flowed. From off your face, into the winds of winter, The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing; But they shall gleam with spiritual glinter, When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing, And through those snows my looks shall be soft-going.
Wilfred OwenRead
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