Be bullied, be outraged, by killed, but do not kill.

I am only conscious of any satisfaction in Scientific Reading or thinking when it rounds off into a poetical generality and vagueness.

The old happiness is unreturning. Boy's griefs are not so grievous as youth's yearning. Boys have no sadness sadder than our hope.

Futility Move him into the sun - Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields unsown. Always it woke him, even in France, Until this morning and this snow. If anything might rouse him now The kind old sun will know. Think how it wakes the seeds, - Woke, once, the clays of a cold star. Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides, Full-nerved -still warm -too hard to stir? Was it for this the clay grew tall? -O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all?

The war affects me less than it ought. But I can do no service to anybody by agitating for news or making dole over the slaughter.

I don't ask myself, is the life congenial to me? But, am I fitted for, am I called to, the Ministry?

And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.