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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=353378" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Armistice Day</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Died some pro patria non dulce non et decor.'<br>So Ezra Pound adapted Horace's lines<br>for those whose sufferings for their nation<br>had bred a dull, dark, painful generation<br>with gloria cauterised from their minds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the calendar their deaths are still recorded.<br>Poppies and medals and uniforms are worn.<br>Services are held and sacrifices lauded.<br>Public concern and private grief are borne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On a cold November day.<br>In a cold November wind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In Oxford 1993, <br>in remembrance of their sufferings and trials, <br>cars are towed untidily from St. Giles<br>and scattered without symmetry in surrounding streets.<br>To protect old rememberers<br>from new bombs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is the point where past and present meet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Cadets march tidily down George Street, <br>to run the gauntlet of upper windows, <br>from which insults are scattered<br>like intellectual litter: <br>‘What a lot! What do you look like? '<br>Hard and bitter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is the recompense the present shows, <br>as they turn and turn about, <br>from windows set in golden stone in upper storeys, <br>which had been saved, no doubt, <br>pro patria (sed cum dolore) <br>by those who fell in thousands, <br>cast like human litter, <br>broken and bitter, <br>upon the dying fields of Flanders.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What they <br>fell for then<br>is out of fashion.<br>They too are not protected<br>from jibes and slanders; <br>and their spirits are blown<br>down Broad Street, past Martyrs' Memorial<br>(which commemorates others who died for a faith<br>which is also out of fashion) .<br>Stripped of their glory, all<br>like transcendental dust, <br>seeking a refuge<br>among the Just.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Brian+Taylor">Brian Taylor</a><div class=q>
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So Ezra Pound adapted Horace's lines
for those whose sufferings for their nation
had bred a dull, dark, painful generation
with gloria cauterised from their minds.

In the calendar their deaths are ..."></div>
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