It Seemed That Out Of Battle I

Sweet And Fitting It Is To Die For The Fatherland.

Flying Is The Only Active Profession I Could Ever Continue With Enthusiasm After The War.

Courage Was Mine, And I Had Mystery, Wisdom Was Mine, And I Had Mastery: To Miss The March Of This Retreating World Into Vain Citadels That Are Not Walled.

I Am Not Concerned With Poetry. My Subject Is War, And The Pity Of War. The Poetry Is In The Pity. Yet These Elegies Are To This Generation In No Sense Conciliatory. They May Be To The Next. All A Poet Can Do Today Is Warn. That Is Why The True Poets Must Be Truthful.

Ambition May Be Defined As The Willingness To Receive Any Number Of Hits On The Nose.