Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood; Blue with all malice, like a madman's flash; And thinly drawn with famishing for flesh. Lend him to stroke these blind, blunt bullet-heads Which long to muzzle in the hearts of lads. Or give him cartridges of fine zinc teeth, Sharp with the sharpness of grief and death. For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple. There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple; And God will grow no talons at his heels, Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST by ALISON RUTHERFORD INSULTING BEAUTY by JOHN WILMOT PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 12. THE CREATOR by EDWIN ARNOLD THE GREAT ELM by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES HILL CIRCLE by FRANCES HALLEY BROCKETT TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. NOT THE ACCEPTED TIME by EDWARD CARPENTER |