Excerpt from Oxford Poetry Ith naked turf-plots three by six in symmetric precision spread You see, between its walls of red, the graveyard of the lunatics. No cenotaph or obelisk holds memory in graven speech Sole epitaph accorded each a number on a painted disk. In nameless uniformity, with few to know and none to weep, While space allows, their freehold keep the men that God has made awry. And these within their straitened fold, who nothing owned, were owned of none, Possess of all beneath the Sun what God and man could not withhold. So close they lie, a skeleton might give his rotting friend a nudge And say, If you or I were judge, we should not moulder here alone. Lest we might harm our fellow-men, they prisoned us, and now exhaust, To speed a cosmic holocaust, the blood and gold they grudged us then. The world had seen less misery with us for prince and presbyter, Who sometimes knew the fools we were, and in our folly could not lie. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.