Sweet Dreams Though The Guns Are Booming.

The Things Men Did Or Felt They Had To Do.

The Days, The Weeks, The Years Out Here Shall Come Back Again, And Our Dead Comrades Shall Then Stand Up Again And March With Us, Our Heads Shall Be Clear, We Shall Have A Purpose, And So We Shall March, Our Dead Comrades Beside Us, The Years At The Front Behind Us:—against Whom, Against Whom?

They Are More To Me Than Life, These Voices, They Are More Than Motherliness And More Than Fear; They Are The Strongest, Most Comforting Thing There Is Anywhere: They Are The Voices Of My Comrades.

The Music Enchanted The Air. It Was Like The South Wind, Like A Warm Night, Like Swelling Sails Beneath The Stars, Completely And Utterly Unreal... It Made Everything Spacious And Colourful, The Dark Stream Of Life Seemed Pulsing In It; There Were No Burdens Any More, No Limits; There Existed Only Glory And Melody And Love, So That One Simply Could Not Realize That, At The Same Time As This Music Was, Outside There Ruled Poverty And Torment And Despair.

Am I Jealous? He Thought, Astonished. Jealous Of The Chance Object To Which She Has Attached Herself? Jealous Of Something That Does Not Concern Me? One Can Be Jealous Of A Love That Has Turned Away, But Not Of That To Which It Has Turned.