So Secretly, Like Wrongs Hushed-up, They Went.

My Soul's A Little Grief, Grappling Your Chest, To Climb Your Throat On Sobs; Easily Chased On Other Sighs And Wiped By Fresher Winds.

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.

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

Sweet And Fitting It Is To Die For The Fatherland.

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