THEY ARE beyond it all now, the dead. They are beyond all the empty words--even beyond the slow, mournful sound of taps. They are beyond the sweat and muck and blood. They are beyond the pain and death, the blood and pus, the anguish spoken and unspoken, the horror first anticipated, then recalled. They are beyond even the heroism and courage of men at war, which we rightly celebrate today, and poets since Virgil have exalted. Of arms and the man I sing . . . .
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Print Headline: This memorial day