These Men Are Worth Your Tears. You

And Death Fell With Me, Like A Deepening Moan. And He, Picking A Manner Of Worm, Which Half Had Hid Its Bruises In The Earth, But Crawled No Further, Showed Me Its Feet, The Feet Of Many Men, And The Fresh-severed Head Of It, My Head.

The Old Lie:dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori.

My Subject Is War, And The Pity Of War.

Was It For This The Clay Grew Tall?

I, Too, Saw God Through Mud