Without Poetry The Soul And Heart Of

Fifteen Millions Of Soldiers With Popguns And Horses All Bent Upon Killing, Because Their "of Courses" Are Not Quite The Same.

Polyphonic Prose Is A Kind Of Free Verse, Except That It Is Still Freer. Polyphonic Makes Full Use Of Cadence, Rime, Alliteration, Assonance.

Happiness, To Some, Elation; Is, To Others, Mere Stagnation.

This Is War: Boys Flung Into A Breach Like Shoveled Earth; And Old Men, Broken, Driving Rapidly Before Crowds Of People In A Glitter Of Silly Decorations. Behind The Boys And The Old Men, Life Weeps, And Shreds Her Garments To The Blowing Winds.

When I Go Away From You The World Beats Dead Like A Slackened Drum.