Euclid Alone Has Looked On Beauty Bare.

What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why, I Have Forgotten, And What Arms Have Lain Under My Head Till Morning, But The Rain Is Full Of Ghosts Tonight, That Tap And Sigh Upon The Glass And Listen For Reply, And In My Heart There Stirs A Quiet Pain For Unremembered Lads That Not Again Will Turn To Me At Midnight With A Cry. Thus In The Winter Stands The Lonely Tree, Nor Knows What Birds Have Vanished One By One, Yet Knows Its Boughs More Silent Than Before: I Cannot Say What Loves Have Come And Gone, I Only Know That Summer Sang In Me A Little While, That In Me Sings No More.

There Is No Shelter In You Anywhere.

A Grave Is Such A Quiet Place.

Not For The Flag Of Any Land Because Myself Was Born There Will I Give Up My Life. But I Will Love That Land Where Man Is Free, And That Will I Defend.

Night Falls Fast. Today Is In The Past.