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Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.No soldier's paid to kick against His powers.We laughed, — knowing ...more

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You shall not hear their mirth:You shall not come to think them well contentBy any jest of mine. These men are worthYour tears:You are not worth their...more

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Through the dense din, I say, we heard him shout"I see your lights!" But ours had long died out.

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Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs ...more

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The universal pervasion of ugliness, hideous landscapes, vile noises, foul language...everything. Unnatural, broken, blasted; the distortion of the de...more

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

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This book is not about heroes. English poetry is not yet fit to speak of them. Nor is it about deeds, or lands, nor anything about glory, honour, migh...more

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Some say God caught them even before they fell.

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These men are worth your tears. You are not worth their merriment.

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Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead.

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But the old man would not so, but slew his son,And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

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What passing bells for these who die as cattle?Only the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifle's rapid rattleCan patter out their hasty...more