Let us have madness openly. 
O men Of my generation. 
Let us follow 
The footsteps of this slaughtered age: 
See it trail across Time's dim land 
Into the closed house of eternity 
With the noise that dying has, 
With the face that dead things wear-- 
nor ever say 
We wanted more; we looked to find
An open door, an utter deed of love, 
Transforming day's evil darkness; 
but We found extended hell and fog Upon the earth,
and within the head 
A rotting bog of lean huge graves.