Text: "In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
(Siegfried Sassoon, "Suicide in the Trenches")
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, "Dulce Et Decorum Est")"
Answer:
"in winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, "
