The Shivering Birds Beneath The Eaves Have

If We Must Die, O Let Us Nobly Die.

If We Must Die, Let It Not Be Like Hogs Hunted And Penned In An Inglorious Spot, If We Must Die, O Let Us Nobly Die.

The Shivering Birds Beneath The Eaves Have Sheltered For The Night.

Nations, Like Plants And Human Beings, Grow. And If The Development Is Thwarted They Are Dwarfed And Overshadowed.

I Know The Dark Delight Of Being Strange, The Penalty Of Difference In The Crowd, The Loneliness Of Wisdom Among Fools.