Happy Are Men Who Yet Before They

The Old Lie:dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori.

The Pallor Of Girls' Brows Shall Be Their Pall; Their Flowers The Tenderness Of Patient Minds, And Each Slow Dusk A Drawing-down Of Blinds.

Numbers Of The Old People Cannot Read. Those Who Can Seldom Do

And By His Smile, I Knew That Sullen Hall, By His Dead Smile I Knew We Stood In Hell.

I Tried To Peg Out Soldierly,--no Use! One Dies Of War Like Any Old Disease.