I Was A Boy When I First

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

Red Lips Are Not So Red As The Stained Stones Kissed By The English Dead.

I Thought Of All That Worked Dark Pits Of War, And Died Digging The Rock Where Death Reputes Peace Lies Indeed.

Do You Know What Would Hold Me Together On A Battlefield? The Sense That I Was Perpetuating The Language In Which Keats And The Rest Of Them Wrote!

Children Are Not Meant To Be Studied, But Enjoyed. Only By Studying To Be Pleased Do We Understand Them.