It is not sweet to die for any thing.
Not for one's country. Not for an older brother.
Not for Christ, Greece, Toronto or all other
Causes.
No.
Bitter.
Bitter.
Horrid as first love's pain,
To die -- dragged down by devils, writhing,
To Hell's bottom ring --
And never, never . . . see sun's splendour again.
This -- if they knew -- would temper youth's bold joy;
And shake the startled face - of every girl and boy.
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Copyright 2002.
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Last modified: 8:22 PM 23/01/2004
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