Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm, <br />Great Gun towering towards Heaven, about to curse; <br />Sway steep against them, and for years rehearse <br />Huge imprecations like a blasting charm! <br />Reach at that Arrogance which needs thy harm, <br />And beat it down before its sins grow worse. <br />Spend our resentment, cannon, -- yea, disburse <br />Our gold in shapes of flame, our breaths in storm. <br /> <br />Yet, for men's sakes whom thy vast malison <br />Must wither innocent of enmity, <br />Be not withdrawn, dark arm, thy spoilure done, <br />Safe to the bosom of our prosperity. <br />But when thy spell be cast complete and whole, <br />May God curse thee, and cut thee from our soul!<br /><br />Wilfred Owen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-seeing-a-piece-of-our-heavy-artillery-brought/
