A Slave Is One Who Waits For

Better Mendacities Than The Classics In Paraphrase! Some Quick To Arm, Some For Adventure, Some From Fear Of Weakness, Some From Fear Of Censure, Some For Love Of Slaughter, In Imagination, Learning Later . . . Some In Fear, Learning Love Of Slaughter; Died Some, Pro Patria, Non "dulce" Non "et Decor" . Walked Eye-deep In Hell Believing In Old Men's Lies, The Unbelieving Came Home, Home To A Lie.

As A Bathtub Lined With White Porcelain, When The Hot Water Gives Out Or Goes Tepid, So Is The Slow Cooling Of Our Chivalrous Passion, O My Much Praised But-not-altogether-satisfactory Lady.

The Temple Is Holy Because It Is Not For Sale.

See, They Return; Ah, See The Tentative Movements, And The Slow Feet, The Trouble In The Pace And The Uncertain Wavering! See, They Return, One, And By One, With Fear, As Half-awakened; As If The Snow Should Hesitate And Murmur In The Wind, And Half Turn Back.

Science Is Unpoetic Only To Minds Jaundiced With Sentiment And Romanticism . . . The Great Masters Of The Past Boasted All They Could Of It And Found It Magical.