The Remarkable Thing About Shakespeare

So When I'm Killed, Don't Wait For Me, Walking The Dim Corridor; In Heaven Or Hell, Don't Wait For Me, Or You Must Wait For Evermore. You'll Find Me Buried, Living-dead In These Verses That You've Read.

There's A Cool Web Of Language Winds Us In, Retreat From Too Much Joy Or Too Much Fear: We Grow Sea-green At Last And Coldly Die In Brininess And Volubility.

Hardly One Soldier In A Hundred Was Inspired By Religious Feeling Of Even The Crudest Kind. It Would Have Been Difficult To Remain Religious In The Trenches Even If One Had Survived The Irreligion Of The Training Battalion At Home.

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.

Before An Attack, The Platoon Pools All Its Available Cash And The Survivors Divide It Up Afterwards. Those Who Are Killed Can't Complain, The Wounded Would Have Given Far More Than That To Escape As They Have, And The Unwounded Regard The Money As A Consolation Prize For Still Being Here.