Was It For This The

The English Say, Yours Truly, And Mean It. The Italians Say, I Kiss Your Feet, And Mean, I Kick Your Head.

Those Who, Like The Beasts, Have No Such Hope, Pass Their Old Age Shrouded With An Inward Gloom.

The Marvel Is That We Did Not All Die Of Cold. As A Matter Of Fact, Only One Of My Party Actually Froze To Death Before He Could Be Got Back, But I Am Not Able To Tell How Many Have Ended Up In Hospital. We Were Marooned In A Frozen Desert. There Was Not A Sign Of Life On The Horizon And A Thousand Signs Of Death.

Whatever Mourns When Many Leave These Shores: Whatever Shares The Eternal Reciprocity Of Tears.

Red Lips Are Not So Red As The Stained Stones Kissed By The English Dead.