Glossary entry (derived from question below)
Latin term or phrase:
dulce et decorum est
English translation:
it is sweet and fitting
Sep 9, 2001 06:12
23 yrs ago
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Latin term
dulce et decorum est
Non-PRO
Latin to English
Art/Literary
in owens poem
Proposed translations
(English)
5 | there is no greater honour | DrSantos |
5 | it is sweet and fitting | Sven Petersson |
5 | to die for one's homeland is sweet and great... | Angela Arnone |
Proposed translations
14 mins
Selected
there is no greater honour
"It is sweet and fitting".
This term is based on Horace's Odes : it is sweet and fitting to die for the fatherland, or "there is no greater honour than to die for one's country".
It is a paraphrase.
This term is based on Horace's Odes : it is sweet and fitting to die for the fatherland, or "there is no greater honour than to die for one's country".
It is a paraphrase.
Reference:
3 KudoZ points awarded for this answer.
Comment: "thankyou thats really helpful for my english h.w"
17 mins
2 hrs
to die for one's homeland is sweet and great...
Wilfrid Owen, before his own untimely death, wrote with great venom against the futile propaganda of war and he quoted the Latin greats "dulce et decorum est pro patria mori"
But it must read in the context of the preceding lines for he calls it "the old lie"....
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.
Angela
But it must read in the context of the preceding lines for he calls it "the old lie"....
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.
Angela
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