I Was Last In Rome In Ad

Love Without Hope, As When The Young Bird-catcher Swept Off His Tall Hat To The Squire's Own Daughter, So Let The Imprisoned Larks Escape And Fly Singing About Her Head, As She Rode By.

But That So Many Scholars Are Barbarians Does Not Much Matter So Long As A Few Of Them Are Ready To Help With Their Specialized Knowledge The Few Independent Thinkers, That Is To Say The Poets, Who Try To To Keep Civilization Alive.

She Tells Her Love While Half Asleep, In The Dark Hours, With Half-words Whispered Low: As Earth Stirs In Her Winter Sleep And Puts Out Grass And Flowers Despite The Snow, Despite The Falling Snow.

Patriotism, In The Trenches, Was Too Remote A Sentiment, And At Once Rejected As Fit Only For Civilians, Or Prisoners. A New Arrival Who Talked Patriotism Would Soon Be Told To Cut It Out.

Let All The Poison That Lurks In The Mud, Hatch Out.