War calls and drowns the kind command Of Peace to plow, to plant the trees, Press back the marge of desert land And widen out its oases. Home vainly begs its brave to stay; Can they be needed more afar? The bugles sound; in armed array They wind the skein of grievous war. The cities need their brave to clear The spots with foulness overgrown, And call for those who know not fear To work where only fear is known. The art of living we would know; The arts of death our souls abhor. Stay, men, but even now they go To weave the web of woeful war. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AMORETTI: 34 by EDMUND SPENSER A SATIRICAL ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A LATE FAMOUS GENERAL by JONATHAN SWIFT RIDDLE OF GOD by PAUL SOUTHWORTH BLISS I WATCHED THE HEAVENS by CAROLINE CLIVE ALAS, DEATH by CHARLES D'ORLEANS THE LITANY: 13. THE DOCTORS by JOHN DONNE |