DULCE ET DECORUM EST PRO FREEMASONRY MORI

As stated earlier on this blog, during my first year as a postgraduate studying mathematics I should have been finding analytic solutions of nonlinear partial differential equations, but instead I was reading, analysing and memorising the poetry of who I consider our greatest poet of World War 1, Wilfred Owen. Dulce et Decorum Est is considered to be one of his best poems, and I would agree.

I think the full title of this poem should be Dulce et Decorum est Pro Patria Mori (English : it is a wonderful and great honour to fight and die for your country).

But with the knowledge of Freemasonry's involvement in the engineering of, and in pulling the trigger for, World War 1, the full title should really be Dulce et Decorum est Pro Freemasonry Mori (English : it is a wonderful and great honour to fight and die for Freemasonry).

But does anyone give a fuck?

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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped 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.

Wilfred Owen
8 October 1917 - March, 1918

[source : Wilfred Owen, Dulce et Decorum Est, http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen1.html, Accessed 1st March 2014]