The Mortal Sickness Of A Mind Too

Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black, And Lights Are Guttering Low: Square Your Shoulders, Lift Your Pack And Leave Your Friends And Go.

Strapped, Noosed, Nighing His Hour, He Stood And Counted Them And Cursed His Luck; And Then The Clock Collected In The Tower Its Strength, And Struck.

When The Journey's Over/there'll Be Time Enough To Sleep.

These, In The Day When Heaven Was Falling, The Hour When Earth's Foundations Fled, Followed Their Mercenary Calling And Took Their Wages And Are Dead. The British Regulars Who Made The Retreat From Mons, Beginning August 24, 1914.

Do Not Ever Read Books About Versification: No Poet Ever Learnt It That Way. If You Are Going To Be A Poet, It Will Come To You Naturally And You Will Pick Up All You Need From Reading Poetry.