If I Were A Young Man With

The Award Of A Pure Gold Medal For Poetry Would Flatter The Recipient Unduly: No Poem Ever Attains Such Carat Purity.

So When I'm Killed, Don't Wait For Me, Walking The Dim Corridor; In Heaven Or Hell, Don't Wait For Me, Or You Must Wait For Evermore. You'll Find Me Buried, Living-dead In These Verses That You've Read.

Let All The Poison That Lurks In The Mud, Hatch Out.

The Gas-cylinders Had By This Time Been Put Into Position On The Front Line. A Special Order Came Round Imposing Severe Penalties On Anyone Who Used Any Word But "accessory" In Speaking Of The Gas. This Was To Keep It Secret, But The French Civilians Knew All About The Scheme Long Before This.

Hardly One Soldier In A Hundred Was Inspired By Religious Feeling Of Even The Crudest Kind. It Would Have Been Difficult To Remain Religious In The Trenches Even If One Had Survived The Irreligion Of The Training Battalion At Home.