War <br />I abhor, <br />And yet how sweet <br />The sound along the marching street <br />Of drum and fife, and I forget <br />Wet eyes of widows, and forget <br />Broken old mothers, and the whole <br />Dark butchery without a soul. <br /> <br />Without a soul--save this bright drink <br />Of heady music, sweet as hell; <br />And even my peace-abiding feet <br />Go marching with the marching street, <br />For yonder, yonder goes the fife, <br />And what care I for human life! <br />The tears fill my astonished eyes <br />And my full heart is like to break, <br />And yet 'tis all embannered lies, <br />A dream those little drummers make. <br /> <br />O it is wickedness to clothe <br />Yon hideous grinning thing that stalks <br />Hidden in music, like a queen <br />That in a garden of glory walks, <br />Till good men love the thing they loathe. <br />Art, thou hast many infamies, <br />But not an infamy like this; <br />O snap the fife and still the drum, <br />And show the monster as she is.<br /><br />Richard Le Gallienne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-illusion-of-war/
