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

My subject is war, and the pity of war.

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

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

Walking abroad, one is the admiration of all little boys, and meets an approving glance from every eye of elderly.

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

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.