I was a boy when I first realized that the fullest life liveable was a Poet's

No-man's land under snow is like the face of the moon: chaotic, crater ridden, uninhabitable, awful, the abode of madness.

Above all I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

Children are not meant to be studied, but enjoyed. Only by studying to be pleased do we understand them.

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

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest to children ardent for some desperate glory. The old lie: It is sweet and fitting that you should die for your country.