I am a soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of soldiers.

I believe that the purpose for which I and my fellow soldiers entered upon this war should have been so clearly stated as to have made it impossible to change them, and that, had this been done, the objects which actuated us would now be attainable by negotiation.

Who's this—alone with stone and sky? It's only my old dog and I— It's only him; it's only me; Alone with stone and grass and tree. What share we most—we two together? Smells, and awareness of the weather. What is it makes us more than dust? My trust in him; in me his trust.

But I've grown thoughtful now. And you have lost Your early-morning freshness of surprise At being so utterly mine: you've learned to fear The gloomy, stricken places in my soul, And the occasional ghosts that haunt my gaze.

Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin they think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.

Soldiers are citizens of death's grey land, drawing no dividend from time's tomorrows.

Man, it seemed, had been created to jab the life out of Germans.