I, Too, Saw God Through Mud

Was It For This The Clay Grew Tall?

If I Have To Be A Soldier I Must Be A Good One, Anything Else Is Unthinkable

Whatever Mourns When Many Leave These Shores: Whatever Shares The Eternal Reciprocity Of Tears.

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.

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