His wet white face and miserable eyesBrought nurses to him more than groans and sighs:But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fellHis troubled voice: he did the business well.(First verse of Died of Wounds)

And the wind upon its way whispered the boughs of May, And touched the nodding peony flowers to bid them waken.

I am not protesting against the conduct of the war, but against the political errors and insincerities for which the fighting men are being sacrificed.

EVERYONE suddenly burst out singing; And I was filled with such delight As prisoned birds must find in freedom, Winging wildly across the white Orchards and dark-green fields; on—on—and out of sight. Everyone’s voice was suddenly lifted; And beauty came like the setting sun: My heart was shaken with tears; and horror Drifted away ... O, but Everyone Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.

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

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

The fact is that five years ago I was, as near as possible, a different person to what I am tonight. I, as I am now, didn't exist at all. Will the same thing happen in the next five years? I hope so.