THE BLOOD OF THE YOUNG MEN
I
Give us back the close veil of the senses,
Let us not see, ah, hide from us
The red blood splashed upon the walls,
The good red blood, the young, the lovely blood
Trampled unseeingly by passing feet,
Feet of the old men, feet of the cold cruel women,
Feet of the careless children, endlessly passing …
II
Day has become an agony, night alone now,
That leisurely shadow, hides the blood stains,
The horrible stains and clots of day-time.
III
All the garments of all the people,
All the wheels of all the traffic,
All the cold indifferent faces,
All the fronts of the houses,
All the stones of the street—
Ghastly! Horribly smeared with blood-stains.
IV
The horror of it!
When a woman holds out a white hand
Suddenly to know it drips black putrid blood;
When an old man sits serene and healthy,
In clean white linen, with clean white hair,
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