AMERICA IN ARMS
We have not willed this war,
Nor heaped for man this monstrous pyre,
But we have sought on hell's wide shore
To quench the awful fire.
This war was willed to be
By one who sprang on a world asleep,
And now his talons out of the sea
Have drawn us in to the deep:
In to the deep and the dark
Where his blood is drunk with the splendor of ships,
As he lies in lair with a steel-gray shark—
The mad foam on his lips.
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