Half Of Tradition Is A Lie.

Unwind My Riddle.cruel As Hawks The Hours Fly;wounded Men Seldom Come Home To Die;the Hard Waves See An Arm Flung High;scorn Hits Strong Because Of A Lie;yet There Exists A Mystic Tie.unwind My Riddle.

I Walked In A Desert. And I Cried, ‘ah, God, Take Me From This Place!’ A Voice Said, ‘it Is No Desert.’ I Cried, ‘well, But - The Sand, The Heat, The Vacant Horizon.’ A Voice Said, ‘it Is No Desert.’

Do Not Weep, Maiden, For War Is Kind. Because Your Lover Threw Wild Hands Toward The Sky And The Affrighted Steed Ran On Alone, Do Not Weep. War Is Kind. Hoarse, Booming Drums Of The Regiment, Little Souls Who Thirst For Fight, These Men Were Born To Drill And Die. The Unexplained Glory Flies Above Them, Great Is The Battle-god, Great, And His Kingdom -a Field Where A Thousand Corpses Lie. Do Not Weep, Babe, For War Is Kind.

I Saw A Man Pursuing The Horizon;round And Round They Sped.i Was Disturbed At This;i Accosted The Man."it Is Futile," I Said,"you Can Never-""you Lie," He Cried,and Ran On.

He Saw That It Was An Ironical Thing For Him To Be Running Thus Toward That Which He Had Been At Such Pains To Avoid.