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

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.

I dreamed kind Jesus fouled the big-gun gears; and caused a permanent stoppage in all bolts; and buckled with a smile Mausers and Colts; and rusted every bayonet with His tears.

I find purer philosophy in a Poem than in a Conclusion of Geometry, a chemical analysis, or a physical law

Escape? There is one unwatched way: your eyes. O Beauty! Keep me good that secret gate.

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.

All a poet can do today is warn.