There Is No Place In Which To

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

Things Have A Terrible Permanence When People Die.

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.

I Think That I Shall Never See A Poem Lovely As A Tree. A Tree Whose Hungry Mouth Is Pressed Against The Earth's Sweet Flowing Breast; A Tree That Looks At God All Day And Lifts Her Leafy Arms To Pray; A Tree That May In Summer Wear A Nest Of Robins In Her Hair; Upon Whose Bosom Snow Has Lain; Who Intimately Lives With Rain. Poems Are Made By Fools Like Me, But Only God Can Make A Tree.

At Present, I Am A Poet Trying To Be A Soldier. To Tell The Truth, I Am Not Interested In Writing Nowadays, Except In So Far As Writing Is The Expression Of Something Beautiful ... The Only Sort Of Book I Care To Write About The War Is The Sort People Will Read After The War Is Over - A Century After It Is Over.