Commonplace People Dislike Tragedy Because They Dare

My Road Leads Me Seawards To The White Dipping Sails.

Commonplace People Dislike Tragedy Because They Dare Not Suffer And Cannot Exult.

The Social States Of Human Kinds Are Made By Multitudes Of Minds, And After Multitudes Of Years A Little Human Growth Appears Worth Having, Even To The Soul Who Sees Most Plain It's Not The Whole.

So Death Obscures Your Gentle Form, So Memory Strives To Make The Darkness Bright; And, In That Heap Of Rocks, Your Body Lies, Part Of The Island Till The Planet Ends, My Gentle Comrade, Beautiful And Wise, Part Of This Crag This Bitter Surge Offends, While I, Who Pass, A Little Obscure Thing, War With This Force, And Breathe, And Am Its King.

It Ought To Have Gangsters, And Aeroplanes And A Lot Of Automatic Pistols.