The Old Happiness Is Unreturning. Boy's Griefs

My Subject Is War, And The Pity Of War.

And By His Smile, I Knew That Sullen Hall, By His Dead Smile I Knew We Stood In Hell.

Then, When Much Blood Had Clogged Their Chariot-wheels I Would Go Up And Wash Them From Sweet Wells, Even With Truths That Lie Too Deep For Taint. I Would Have Poured My Spirit Without Stint But Not Through Wounds; Not On The Cess Of War.

Flying Is The Only Active Profession I Could Ever Continue With Enthusiasm After The War.

Soldiers May Grow A Soul When Turned To Fronds, But Here The Thing's Best Left At Home With Friends.