The Old Lie:dulce Et Decorum Est Pro

I Dreamed Kind Jesus Fouled The Big-gun Gears; And Caused A Permanent Stoppage In All Bolts; And Buckled With A Smile Mausers And Colts; And Rusted Every Bayonet With His Tears.

Do You Know What Would Hold Me Together On A Battlefield? The Sense That I Was Perpetuating The Language In Which Keats And The Rest Of Them Wrote!

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.

No-man's Land Under Snow Is Like The Face Of The Moon: Chaotic, Crater Ridden, Uninhabitable, Awful, The Abode Of Madness.

Children Are Not Meant To Be Studied, But Enjoyed. Only By Studying To Be Pleased Do We Understand Them.