The Great Tragedy Of The Average Man

In The Mouths Of Many Men Soft Words Are Like Roses That Soldiers Put Into The Muzzles Of Their Muskets On Holidays.

Your Silent Tents Of Green We Deck With Fragrant Flowers; Yours Has The Suffering Been, The Memory Shall Be Ours.

Even Cities Have Their Graves!

These Stars Of Earth, These Golden Flowers.

Read From Some Humbler Poet, Whose Songs Gushed From His Heart, As Showers From The Clouds Of Summer, Or Tears From The Eyelids Start.