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

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

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

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

All the poet can do today is warn. That is why true Poets must be truthful.

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

All theological lore is becoming distasteful to me.