These Men Are Worth Your Tears. You

My Subject Is War, And The Pity Of War.

I, Too, Saw God Through Mud

I Tried To Peg Out Soldierly,--no Use! One Dies Of War Like Any Old Disease.

The War Affects Me Less Than It Ought. But I Can Do No Service To Anybody By Agitating For News Or Making Dole Over The Slaughter.

The Young Soldier It Is Not Death Without Hereafter To One In Dearth Of Life And Its Laughter, Nor The Sweet Murder Dealt Slow And Even Unto The Martyr Smiling At Heaven: It Is The Smile Faint As A (waning) Myth, Faint, And Exceeding Small On A Boy's Murdered Mouth.