“As bronze may be much beautified by lying in the dark damp soil, so men who fade in dust of warfare fade fairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.”

“For by my glee might many men have laughed,And of my weeping may something have been left,Which must die now.”

“The dust that fell unnoted as a dew,Wrapped the dead city's face like mummy-cloth”

“These men are worth your tears. You are not worth their merriment.”

“There breasts were stuck all white with wreath and sprayAs men's are, dead.”

“Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.No soldier's paid to kick against His powers.We laughed, — knowing that better men would come,And greater wars: when each proud fighter bragsHe wars on Death, for lives; not men, for flags.”

“You shall not hear their mirth:You shall not come to think them well contentBy any jest of mine. These men are worthYour tears:You are not worth their merriment.”