War was return of earth to ugly earth, War was foundering of sublimities, Extinction of each happy art and faith By which the world had still kept head in air, Protesting logic or protesting love, Until the unendurable moment struck - The inward scre
What, then, was war? No mere discord of flags But an infection of the common sky That sagged ominously upon the earth.
I protested: But all this is childish. Is there a war on here, or isn't there? The Royal Welch don't recognize it socially, he answered.
England looked strange to us returned soldiers. We could not understand the war madness that ran about everywhere, looking for a pseudo-military outlet. The civilians talked a foreign language; and it was newspaper language.