Mud And Rain And Wretchedness And Blood.

December Stillness, Teach Me Through Your Trees That Loom Along The West, One With The Land, The Veiled Evangel Of Your Mysteries. While Nightfall, Sad And Spacious, On The Down Deepens, And Dusk Embues Me Where I Stand, With Grave Diminishings Of Green And Brown, Speak, Roofless Nature, Your Instinctive Words; And Let Me Learn Your Secret From The Sky, Following A Flock Of Steadfast-journeying Birds In Lone Remote Migration Beating By. December Stillness, Crossed By Twilight Roads, Teach Me To Travel Far And Bear My Loads.

I Didn't Want To Die - Not Before I'd Finished Reading The Return Of The Native Anyhow.

And It's Been Proved That Soldiers Don't Go Mad Unless They Lose Control Of Ugly Thoughts That Drive Them Out To Jabber Among The Trees.

Oh Yes, I Know The Way To Heaven Was Easy. We Found The Little Kingdom Of Our Passion That All Can Share Who Walk The Road Of Lovers. In Wild And Secret Happiness We Stumbled; And Gods And Demons Clamoured In Our Senses.

Life For The Majority Of The Population. Is An Unlovely Struggle Against Unfair Odds. Culminating In A Cheap Funeral.