DULCE ET DECORUM

"If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gurgling from the frothcorrupted 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 Life; Dulci et Decorum est
Pro patria mori."
Owen, poeta inglés, sobre I guerra mundial