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.

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

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.

If I have to be a soldier I must be a good one, anything else is unthinkable

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

Winter Song The browns, the olives, and the yellows died, And were swept up to heaven; where they glowed Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide, And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed, Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed and flowed. From off your face, into the winds of winter, The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing; But they shall gleam with spiritual glinter, When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing, And through those snows my looks shall be soft-going.