Things Have A Terrible Permanence When People

In Memoriam: Florence Nightingale She Whom We Love, Our Lady Of Compassion, Can Never Die, For Love Forbids Her Death. Love Has Bent Down In His Old Kindly Fashion, And Breathed Upon Her His Immortal Breath. On Wounded Soldiers, In Their Anguish Lying, Her Gentle Spirit Shall Descend Like Rain. Where The White Flag With The Red Cross Is Flying, There Shall She Dwell, The Vanquisher Of Pain.

There Is No Place In Which To Hide When Age Comes Seeking For His Bride.

It Is Stern Work, It Is Perilous Work, To Thrust Your Hand In The Sun And Pull Out A Spark Of Immortal Flame To Warm The Hearts Of Men: But Prometheus, Torn By The Claws And Beaks Whose Task Is Never Done, Would Be Tortured Another Eternity To Go Stealing Fire Again.

At Present, I Am A Poet Trying To Be A Soldier. To Tell The Truth, I Am Not Interested In Writing Nowadays, Except In So Far As Writing Is The Expression Of Something Beautiful ... The Only Sort Of Book I Care To Write About The War Is The Sort People Will Read After The War Is Over - A Century After It Is Over.

They Say That Life Is A Highway And Its Milestones Are The Years,and Now And Then There's A Toll-gate Where You Buy Your Way With Tears.it's A Rough Road And A Steep Road And It Stretches Broad And Far,but At Last It Leads To A Golden Town Where Golden Houses Are.