The conquered world is bowed and worshipful, <br />And lovely Peace smooth-gowned in lightest grey <br />Cries, 'War is Dead' and treads upon it's skull. <br />While silken women walk their rosy way <br />Sneering at swords, and tittering at deeds, <br />And kicking relics with their pearl-shod feet, <br />Saying with mirth, 'The body never bleeds. <br />Old Mars is corpsed beneath great Bacchus' <br />seat.' <br />Young Mothers tell their babies of rusted spears <br />Of timid wolves, long fled to northern skies, <br />Of priests that sang of March in olden years, <br />And died in May with vain, despairing eyes, <br />The world is soothed with olive-juice and wine, <br />And spits upon the Quirinalian* shrine.<br /><br />Leon Gellert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-invocation-of-jealousy/
