No One Knows The Colour Of A

War Is A Fevered God Who Takes Alike Maiden And King And Clod.

She Did Not Look At The Daffodils. They Didn't Mean Anything. She Looked At The Daffodils. She Said, 'thank You For The Daffodils.

Could Beauty Be Beaten Out, O Youth The Cities Have Sent To Strike At Each Other's Strength, It Is You Who Have Kept Her Alight.

Pompeii Has Nothing To Teach Us, We Know Crack Of Volcanic Fissure, Slow Flow Of Terrible Lava, Pressure On Heart, Lungs, The Brain About To Burst Its Brittle Case (what The Skull Can Endure!)

A Slight Wind Shakes The Seed-pods My Thoughts Are Spent As The Black Seeds.