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

Numbers of the old people cannot read. Those who can seldom do

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

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.

As bronze may be much beautified by lying in the dark damp soil, so men who fade in dust of warfare fade fairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.

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

The English say, Yours Truly, and mean it. The Italians say, I kiss your feet, and mean, I kick your head.