I have perceived much beautyIn the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;Heard music in the silentness of duty;Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.Nevertheless, except you shareWith them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell,Whose world is but the trembling of a flare,And heaven but as the highway for a shell,You shall not hear their mirth:You shall not come to think them well contentBy any jest of mine. These men are worthYour tears: You are not worth their merriment.
-Wilfred Owen
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