As For My Wife, I Would You

From Camp To Camp, Through The Foul Womb Of Night, The Hum Of Either Army Stilly Sounds, That The Fixed Sentinels Almost Receive The Secret Whispers Of Each Other's Watch. Fire Answers Fire, And Through Their Play Flames Each Battle Sees The Other's Umbered Face. Steed Threatens Steed, In High And Boastful Neighs Piercing The Night's Dull Ear; And From The Tents The Armorers Accomplishing The Knights, With Busy Hammers Closing Rivets Up, Give Dreadful Note Of Preparation.

Hopeless And Helpless Doth Egeon Wend, But To Procrastinate His Liveless End.

Commit The Oldest Sins The Newest Kind Of Ways.

O, Had I But Followed The Arts!

If Thou Engrossest All The Griefs Are Thine, Thou Robb'st Me Of A Moiety.