The Mortal Sickness Of A Mind Too

Here Dead Lie We Because We Did Not Choose To Live And Shame The Land From Which We Sprung. Life, To Be Sure, Is Nothing Much To Lose; But Young Men Think It Is, And We Were Young.

When The Journey's Over/there'll Be Time Enough To Sleep.

That Is The Land Of Lost Content, I See It Shining Plain, The Happy Highways Where I Went And Cannot Come Again.

I Do Not Choose The Right Word, I Get Rid Of The Wrong One.

I Find Cambridge An Asylum, In Every Sense Of The Word.