I adore war. It is like a big picnic but without the objectivelessness of a picnic. I have never been more well or more happy.
The naked earth is warm with Spring,
And with green grass and bursting trees
Leans to the sun's kiss glorying,
And quivers in the sunny breeze.
The thundering line of battle stands, And in the air Death moans and sings: But Day shall clasp him with strong hands, And Night shall fold him in soft wings.
And Life is Colour and Warmth and Light and a striving evermore for these; and he is dead, who will not fight; and who dies fighting has increase.
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