What chieftain, walking by himself, crying Most miserable, most victorious, Does not see these separate figures one by one, And yet see only one, in his old coat, His slouching pantaloons, beyond the town, Looking for what was, where it used to be?

In being more than an exception, part, Though an heroic part, of the commonal. The major abstraction is the commonal, The inanimate, difficult visage.

It is of him, ephebe, to make, to confect The final elegance, not to console Nor sanctify, but plainly to propound.

The major abstraction is the idea of man And major man is its exponent, abler In the abstract than in his singular, More fecund as principle than particle

We two kept house, the Past and I, The Past and I; I tended while it hovered nigh, Leaving me never alone.

You see, ten years ago it was the front seat Drivin' stoned and feelin' no pain. Now here I am straight and sittin' in the back Hitting Sixteen Parkside Lane.

I love the war because there is victory at its end.