We Are Like Trees. We Wear All

And, Hungry For The Old, Familiar Ways, I Turned Aside And Bowed My Head And Wept.

If We Must Die, Let It Not Be Like Hogs Hunted And Penned In An Inglorious Spot, If We Must Die, O Let Us Nobly Die.

Upon The Clothes Behind The Tenement, That Hang Like Ghosts Suspended From The Lines, Linking Each Flat, But To Each Indifferent, Incongruous And Strange The Moonlight Shines.

Idealism Is Like A Castle In The Air If It Is Not Based On A Solid Foundation Of Social And Political Realism.

Nations, Like Plants And Human Beings, Grow. And If The Development Is Thwarted They Are Dwarfed And Overshadowed.