Was It For This The Clay Grew

Was It For This The Clay Grew Tall?

I Am Not Concerned With Poetry. My Subject Is War, And The Pity Of War. The Poetry Is In The Pity. Yet These Elegies Are To This Generation In No Sense Conciliatory. They May Be To The Next. All A Poet Can Do Today Is Warn. That Is Why The True Poets Must Be Truthful.

Heart, You Were Never Hot Nor Large, Nor Full Like Hearts Made Great With Shot

Numbers Of The Old People Cannot Read. Those Who Can Seldom Do

All I Ask Is To Be Held Above The Barren Wastes Of Want.