What Matters Death, If Freedom Be Not

I Suppose I Passed It A Hundred Times, But I Always Stop For A Minute. And Look At The House, The Tragic House, The House With Nobody In It.

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

There Is No Peace To Be Taken With Poets Who Are Young, For They Worry About The Wars To Be Fought And The Songs That Must Be Sung.

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.

The Only Reason A Road Is Good As Every Wanderer Knows / Is Just Because Of The Homes, The Homes, The Homes To Which One Goes