Sweet and fitting it is to die for the fatherland.

The old Lie:Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

The Young Soldier It is not death Without hereafter To one in dearth Of life and its laughter, Nor the sweet murder Dealt slow and even Unto the martyr Smiling at heaven: It is the smile Faint as a (waning) myth, Faint, and exceeding small On a boy's murdered mouth.

All a poet can do today is warn.

All I ask is to be held above the barren wastes of want.

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