The Song Was Wordless; The

And When The War Is Done And Youth Stone Dead, I'd Toddle Safely Home And Die--in Bed.

Oh Yes, I Know The Way To Heaven Was Easy. We Found The Little Kingdom Of Our Passion That All Can Share Who Walk The Road Of Lovers. In Wild And Secret Happiness We Stumbled; And Gods And Demons Clamoured In Our Senses.

I Am Not Protesting Against The Conduct Of The War, But Against The Political Errors And Insincerities For Which The Fighting Men Are Being Sacrificed.

For It Is Humanly Certain That Most Of Us Remember Very Little Of What We Have Read. To Open Almost Any Book A Second Time Is To Be Reminded That We Had Forgotten Well-nigh Everything That The Writer Told Us. Parting From The Narrator And His Narrative, We Retain Only A Fading Impression; And He, As It Were, Takes The Book Away From Us And Tucks It Under His Arm.

In Me The Tiger Sniffs The Rose.