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.