To Rupert Brooke's glorification of war:
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever (mine).
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever (mine).
I offer Wilfred Owen's depiction of the sufferings of the trenches: Dulce et Decorum Est. The pathos of war has turned grim and moribund.
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