Poetry Is Not The Thing Said, But

I Sought Them Far And Found Them, The Sure, The Straight, The Brave, The Hearts I Lost My Own To, The Souls I Could Not Save They Braced Their Belts About Them, They Crossed In Ships The Sea, They Sought And Found Six Feet Of Ground, And There They Died For Me.

Life, To Be Sure, Is Nothing Much To Lose, But Young Men Think It Is, And We Were Young.

These, In The Day When Heaven Was Falling, The Hour When Earth's Foundations Fled, Followed Their Mercenary Calling And Took Their Wages And Are Dead. The British Regulars Who Made The Retreat From Mons, Beginning August 24, 1914.

Stars, I Have Seen Them Fall, But When They Drop And Die No Star Is Lost At All From All The Star-sown Sky. The Toil Of All That Be Helps Not The Primal Fault; It Rains Into The Sea And Still The Sea Is Salt.

Lovers Lying Two And Two Ask Not Whom They Sleep Beside, And The Bridegroom All Night Through Never Turns Him To The Bride.