BALLADENo.1
BALLADENo.1
Bodiesof comrade soldiers gleaming whiteWithin the mill-pool where you float and diveAnd lounge around part-clothed or naked quite;Beautiful shining forms of men alive,O living lutes stringed with the senses fiveFor Love’s sweet fingers; seeing Fate afar,My very soul with Death for you must strive;Because of you I loathe the name of War.But O you piteous corpses yellow-black,Rotting unburied in the sunbeam’s light,With teeth laid bare by yellow lips curled backMost hideously; whose tortured souls took flightLeaving your limbs, all mangled by the fight,In attitudes of horror fouler farThan dreams which haunt a devil’s brain at night;Because of you I loathe the name of War.Mothers and maids who loved you, and the wivesBereft of your sweet presences; yea, allWho knew you beautiful; and those small livesMade of that knowledge; O, and you who callFor life (but vainly now) from that dark hallWhere wait the Unborn, and the loves which areIn future generations to befall;Because of you I loathe the name of War.L’ENVOIPrince Jesu, hanging stark upon a treeCrucified as the malefactors areThat man and man henceforth should brothers be;Because of you I loathe the name of War.
Bodiesof comrade soldiers gleaming whiteWithin the mill-pool where you float and diveAnd lounge around part-clothed or naked quite;Beautiful shining forms of men alive,O living lutes stringed with the senses fiveFor Love’s sweet fingers; seeing Fate afar,My very soul with Death for you must strive;Because of you I loathe the name of War.But O you piteous corpses yellow-black,Rotting unburied in the sunbeam’s light,With teeth laid bare by yellow lips curled backMost hideously; whose tortured souls took flightLeaving your limbs, all mangled by the fight,In attitudes of horror fouler farThan dreams which haunt a devil’s brain at night;Because of you I loathe the name of War.Mothers and maids who loved you, and the wivesBereft of your sweet presences; yea, allWho knew you beautiful; and those small livesMade of that knowledge; O, and you who callFor life (but vainly now) from that dark hallWhere wait the Unborn, and the loves which areIn future generations to befall;Because of you I loathe the name of War.L’ENVOIPrince Jesu, hanging stark upon a treeCrucified as the malefactors areThat man and man henceforth should brothers be;Because of you I loathe the name of War.
Bodiesof comrade soldiers gleaming whiteWithin the mill-pool where you float and diveAnd lounge around part-clothed or naked quite;Beautiful shining forms of men alive,O living lutes stringed with the senses fiveFor Love’s sweet fingers; seeing Fate afar,My very soul with Death for you must strive;Because of you I loathe the name of War.
Bodiesof comrade soldiers gleaming white
Within the mill-pool where you float and dive
And lounge around part-clothed or naked quite;
Beautiful shining forms of men alive,
O living lutes stringed with the senses five
For Love’s sweet fingers; seeing Fate afar,
My very soul with Death for you must strive;
Because of you I loathe the name of War.
But O you piteous corpses yellow-black,Rotting unburied in the sunbeam’s light,With teeth laid bare by yellow lips curled backMost hideously; whose tortured souls took flightLeaving your limbs, all mangled by the fight,In attitudes of horror fouler farThan dreams which haunt a devil’s brain at night;Because of you I loathe the name of War.
But O you piteous corpses yellow-black,
Rotting unburied in the sunbeam’s light,
With teeth laid bare by yellow lips curled back
Most hideously; whose tortured souls took flight
Leaving your limbs, all mangled by the fight,
In attitudes of horror fouler far
Than dreams which haunt a devil’s brain at night;
Because of you I loathe the name of War.
Mothers and maids who loved you, and the wivesBereft of your sweet presences; yea, allWho knew you beautiful; and those small livesMade of that knowledge; O, and you who callFor life (but vainly now) from that dark hallWhere wait the Unborn, and the loves which areIn future generations to befall;Because of you I loathe the name of War.
Mothers and maids who loved you, and the wives
Bereft of your sweet presences; yea, all
Who knew you beautiful; and those small lives
Made of that knowledge; O, and you who call
For life (but vainly now) from that dark hall
Where wait the Unborn, and the loves which are
In future generations to befall;
Because of you I loathe the name of War.
L’ENVOI
L’ENVOI
Prince Jesu, hanging stark upon a treeCrucified as the malefactors areThat man and man henceforth should brothers be;Because of you I loathe the name of War.
Prince Jesu, hanging stark upon a tree
Crucified as the malefactors are
That man and man henceforth should brothers be;
Because of you I loathe the name of War.