I SIT in a chair and read the newspapers. Millions of men go to war, acres of them are buried, guns and ships broken, cities burned, villages sent up in smoke, and children where cows are killed off amid hoarse barbecues vanish like finger-rings of smoke in a north wind. I sit in a chair and read the newspapers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A CASTILIAN SONG by SARA TEASDALE A CRADLE SONG by WILLIAM BLAKE RAIN-SONGS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR RECESSIONAL by RUDYARD KIPLING THE LOTOS-EATERS by ALFRED TENNYSON THE MAHOGANY TREE by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY |