. There was no reason why
they shouldn't, because I'd fired first and there was no more officer to
play up to.

But the things you don't do by yourself are a long way the best.
Nothing--not even poetry--can beat an infantry charge when you're
leading it. That's because of your men. It feels as if you were drawing
them all up after you. Of course you aren't. They're coming on their
own, and you're simply nothing, only a little unimportant part of
them--even when you're feeling as if you were God Almighty.

I'm afraid it _does_ look awfully as if young Vereker were killed. They
may hear, you know, in some roundabout way--through the Red Cross, or
some of his men. I've written to them.

Love to everybody. Certainly you may kiss Nanna for me, if she'd like
it. I wish I liked Waddy more--when you've given him to me.--Always your
affectionate,

MICHAEL.

P.S.--I don't sound pleased about the publication; but I am. I can't get
over their wanting to do it. I thought they didn't care.

Ronny--I've been such a beast to them--when Father tried to read my
stuff--bless him!--and couldn't, I used to wish to God he'd leave it
alone. And now I'd give anything to see his dear old paws hanging on to
it and twitching with fright, and his eyes slewing round to see if I'm
looking at him.

June 14th, 1916.
B.E.F., FRANCE.

MY DEAR RONNY,--I'm glad you like them, and I'm glad Father thinks he
"understands Michael's poems" this time, and I'm glad they've made
Mother and Dorothy feel happier about me--BUT--they must get it out of
their heads that they're my "message," or any putrescent thing of that
sort. The bare idea of writing a message, or of being supposed to write
a message, makes me sick. I know it's beastly of me, but, really I'd
rather they weren't published at all, if there's the smallest chance of
their being taken that way.

But if Ellis is doing the introduction there isn't the smallest chance.
Thank God for Ellis.

There--I've let off all my beastliness.

And now I'll try to answer your letter. Yes; the "ecstasy" in the last
two poems _is_ Nicky's ecstasy. And as Ellis says it strikes him as
absolutely real, I take it that some of Nicky's "reality" has got
through. It's hard on Ellis that he has to take _his_ ecstasy from me,
instead of coming out and getting it for himself.

But you and Nicky and Lawrence are right. It _is_ absolutely real. I
mean it has to do with absolute reality. With God.