I Thought Of All That Worked Dark

Flying Is The Only Active Profession I Could Ever Continue With Enthusiasm After The War.

Those Who, Like The Beasts, Have No Such Hope, Pass Their Old Age Shrouded With An Inward Gloom.

It Seemed That Out Of Battle I Escaped Down Some Profound Dull Tunnel, Long Since Scooped Through Granites Which Titanic Wars Had Groined.

I, Too, Saw God Through Mud

So Secretly, Like Wrongs Hushed-up, They Went.