And There'd Be No More Jokes In

Soldiers Are Citizens Of Death's Grey Land, Drawing No Dividend From Time's Tomorrows.

The Fact Is That Five Years Ago I Was, As Near As Possible, A Different Person To What I Am Tonight. I, As I Am Now, Didn't Exist At All. Will The Same Thing Happen In The Next Five Years? I Hope So.

Everyone Suddenly Burst Out Singing; And I Was Filled With Such Delight As Prisoned Birds Must Find In Freedom, Winging Wildly Across The White Orchards And Dark-green Fields; On—on—and Out Of Sight. Everyone’s Voice Was Suddenly Lifted; And Beauty Came Like The Setting Sun: My Heart Was Shaken With Tears; And Horror Drifted Away ... O, But Everyone Was A Bird; And The Song Was Wordless; The Singing Will Never Be Done.

I Believe That The Purpose For Which I And My Fellow Soldiers Entered Upon This War Should Have Been So Clearly Stated As To Have Made It Impossible To Change Them, And That, Had This Been Done, The Objects Which Actuated Us Would Now Be Attainable By Negotiation.

Let My Soul, A Shining Tree, Silver Branches Lift Towards Thee, Where On A Hallowed Winter's Night The Clear-eyed Angels May Alight.