The war affects me less than it ought. But I can do no service to anybody by agitating for news or making dole over the slaughter.

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

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.

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

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

I am only conscious of any satisfaction in Scientific Reading or thinking when it rounds off into a poetical generality and vagueness.

I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity. Yet these elegies are to this generation in no sense conciliatory. They may be to the next. All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true Poets must be truthful.