The Mortal Sickness Of A Mind Too

All Knots That Lovers Tie Are Tied To Sever. Here Shall Your Sweetheart Lie, Untrue For Ever.

There, By The Starlit Fences The Wanderer Halts And Hears My Soul That Lingers Sighing About The Glimmering Weirs.

Therefore, Since The World Has Still Much Good, But Much Less Good Than Ill, And While The Sun And Moon Endure Luck's A Chance, But Trouble's Sure, I'd Face It As A Wise Man Would, And Train For Ill And Not For Good.

Oh, 'tis Jesting, Dancing, Drinking Spins The Heavy World Around.

These, In The Day When Heaven Was Falling, The Hour When Earth's Foundations Fled, Followed Their Mercenary Calling And Took Their Wages And Are Dead. The British Regulars Who Made The Retreat From Mons, Beginning August 24, 1914.