HOW deeply nurtured is your foolishness,
Calling destruction great and slaughter brave,
Making large triumph of a little grave,
Imperial purple of a mourning dress,
The gun an emblem of your godliness—
A fluttering ribbon or a banner's wave,
A medal or a bayonet, or rave
Of singing, marching in the forward press
Of hatred to the banging of a band;
Your country's honour and the world's release.
Are they not strong in courage who withstand
The armies of your folly and shall cease
To tarnish with spilt life their motherland?
Cowards—or martyrs—crucified for peace.
Calling destruction great and slaughter brave,
Making large triumph of a little grave,
Imperial purple of a mourning dress,
The gun an emblem of your godliness—
A fluttering ribbon or a banner's wave,
A medal or a bayonet, or rave
Of singing, marching in the forward press
Of hatred to the banging of a band;
Your country's honour and the world's release.
Are they not strong in courage who withstand
The armies of your folly and shall cease
To tarnish with spilt life their motherland?
Cowards—or martyrs—crucified for peace.
1917