Veterans Day

November 11.11.22 Veterans Day seeks to honor and give thanks to all the men and women who have served and are serving in the US Armed Forces. Ceremonies are held across the country at Veterans Hospitals, cemeteries, and National Monuments. At 11:00 a.m. EST, the Veterans Day National Ceremony is held at Arlington National Cemetery.

Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

‘Tis sweet to die for one’s country

Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori is a line from the Odes (III.2.13) by the Roman lyric poet Horace (65-8 BC) The line translates: "It is sweet and fitting to die for the homeland." The Latin word patria (homeland), literally meaning the country of one's fathers (in Latin, patres) or ancestors, is the source of the French word for a country, patrie, and of the English word "patriot" (one who loves his country).

My mother recited this poem in Latin each Veterans’ Day. Then, she recited the poem Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen. She was born in 1928, eight years following the date of publication.

No need for further history lessons. My mother taught the gratitude we owe for our freedom.

Horace's line is quoted in the title of the poem Dulce et Decorum est, by Wilfred Owen, written in 1917 and published posthumously in 1920.

Warning to Readers: Possible disturbing language and imagery in this poem

Dulce et Decorum Est

BY WILFRED OWEN

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 gas-shells dropping softly 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 – 1917: Published posthumously – 1920

With gratefulness to all who have served, serve, or will serve. We cannot understand your sacrifice.

We thank you for Freedom