In Me The Tiger Sniffs The Rose.

How Innocent Were These Trees, That In Mist-green May, Blown By A Prospering Breeze, Stood Garlanded And Gay; Who Now In Sundown Glow Of Serious Colour Clad Confront Me With Their Show As Though Resigned And Sad, Trees, Who Unwhispering Stand Umber, Bronze, Gold; Pavilioning The Land For One Grown Tired And Old; Elm, Chestnut, Aspen And Pine, I Am Merged In You, Who Tell Once More In Tones Of Time, Your Foliaged Farewell.

I Am Making This Statement As An Act Of Wilful Defiance Of Military Authority, Because I Believe That The War Is Being Deliberately Prolonged By Those Who Have The Power To End It. I Am A Soldier, Convinced That I Am Acting On Behalf Of Soldiers. I Believe That This War, On Which I Entered As A War Of Defence And Liberation, Has Now Become A War Of Aggression And Conquest.

Man, It Seemed, Had Been Created To Jab The Life Out Of Germans.

Mud And Rain And Wretchedness And Blood. Why Should Jolly Soldier-boys Complain? God Made These Before The Roofless Flood - Mud And Rain.

In The Years 1910 And 1911 I Had 51 Innings With 10 Not Outs And An Average Of 19. This I Consider A Creditable Record For A Poet.