What Is The World, O Soldiers? It

Oh, Pity The Poor Glutton Whose Troubles All Begin In Struggling On And On To Turn What's Out Into What's In.

A Face Peered. All The Grey Night In Chaos Of Vacancy Shone; Nought But Vast Sorrow Was There The Sweet Cheat Gone.

After All, What Is Every Man? A Horde Of Ghosts - Like A Chinese Nest Of Boxes - Oaks That Were Acorns That Were Oaks. Death Lies Behind Us, Not In Front - In Our Ancestors, Back And Back Until.

But Beauty Vanishes; Beauty Passes; However Rare Rare It Be; And When I Crumble, Who Will Remember This Lady Of The West Country?

A Harvest Mouse Goes Scampering By, With Silver Claws And Silver Eye; And Moveless Fish In The Water Gleam, By Silver Reeds In A Silver Stream.