The Psychological Craze

I in the library, Looking for books to read, Pulled one out twice to see If it fulfilled my need. Butler had written this Autobiography. Which of the Butlers, then? I opened it to see. He's an old general Mounted upon a horse. Thinkers don't write their lives, But soldiers can, of course. They write: 'The regiment Was sent to Omdurman, Where Gordon died. To catch The Mahdi was our plan.' Later—'The bride wore white And she had golden hair. Four bridesmaids bore her train Up to the altar where His Grace of Birmingham'— It's the old rigmarole, Names, facts and dates—no word In this about the soul. No dreams, no sin, no tears! Only the body thrives. Upon such worthless things Great soldiers base their lives. No wonder wars are fought. Loss of such life is small, Life bound to space and time, Not infinite at all.