I was a boy when I first realized that the fullest life liveable was a Poet's
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.
Never fear: Thank Home, and Poetry, and the Force behind both.
The English say, Yours Truly, and mean it. The Italians say, I kiss your feet, and mean, I kick your head.
All a poet can do today is warn.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels I would go up and wash them from sweet wells, Even with truths that lie too deep for taint. I would have poured my spirit without stint But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.