Incredibly, Inordinately, Devastatingly, Immortally, Calamitously,

It's All A Terrible Tragedy. And Yet, In It's Details, It's Great Fun. And - Apart From The Tragedy - I've Never Felt Happier Or Better In My Life Than In Those Days In Belgium.

There's Little Comfort In The Wise

I Have Been So Great A Lover: Filled My Days So Proudly With The Splendour Of Love's Praise, The Pain, The Calm, And The Astonishment, Desire Illimitable, And Silent Content, And All Dear Names Men Use, To Cheat Despair, For The Perplexed And Viewless Streams That Bear Our Hearts At Random Down The Dark Of Life.

Infinite Hungers Leap No More I In The Chance Swaying Of Your Dress; And Love Has Changed To Kindliness.

But The Best I've Known Stays Here, And Changes, Breaks, Grows Old, Is Blown About The Winds Of The World, And Fades From Brains Of Living Men, And Dies.