I've Just Read That I Am Dead.

Gentleman-rankers Out On The Spree, Damned From Here To Eternity.

What Stands If Freedom Fail? What Dies Of England Live?

But Till We Are Built Like Angels, With Hammer And Chisel And Pen, We Will Work For Ourself And A Woman, Forever And Ever, Amen.

As I Pass Through My Incarnations In Every Age And Race, I Make My Proper Prostrations To The Gods Of The Market-place. Peering Through Reverent Fingers I Watch Them Flourish And Fall, And The Gods Of The Copybook Headings, I Notice, Outlast Them All.

They Shut The Road Through The Woods Seventy Years Ago. Weather And Rain Have Undone It Again, And Now You Would Never Know There Was Once A Road Through The Woods