“Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad.”

“Voices of boys were by the river-side.Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad.”

“What passing bells for these who die as cattle?Only the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifle's rapid rattleCan patter out their hasty orisons.No mockeries now for them; no prayers, nor bells,Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,The shrill demented choirs of wailing shells,And bugles calling for them from sad shires.What candles may be held to speed them all?Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes,Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall,Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,And each, slow dusk a drawing down of blinds.”

“O what made fatuous sunbeams toilTo break earth's sleep at all?”

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

“Children are not meant to be studied, but enjoyed. Only by studying to be pleased do we understand them.”

“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.”