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

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.

Let my soul, a shining tree, Silver branches lift towards thee, Where on a hallowed winter's night The clear-eyed angels may alight.

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

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

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.

In me the tiger sniffs the rose.