We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame; however you take it we men are a little breed.

The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.

The mighty hopes that make us men.

There sinks the nebulous star we call the sun.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.

And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.

Attain the unattainable.