Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!

And I shall find some girl perhaps, and a better one than you, With eyes as wise, but kindlier, and lips as soft, but true, and I dare say she will do.

It's all a terrible tragedy. And yet, in it's details, it's great fun. And - apart from the tragedy - I've never felt happier or better in my life than in those days in Belgium.

Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!

The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss of blankets.

Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?

Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.