Suppose 'twere done! The lanyard pulled on every shotted gun; Into the wheeling death-clutch sent Each millioned armament, To grapple there On land, on sea and under, and in air! Suppose at last 'twere come — Now, while each bourse and shop and mill is dumb And arsenals and dockyards hum, — Now all complete, supreme, That vast, Satanic dream! — Each field were trampled, soaked, Each stream dyed, choked, Each leaguered city and blockaded port Made famine's sport; The empty wave Made reeling dreadnought's grave; Cathedral, castle, gallery, smoking fell 'Neath bomb and shell; In deathlike trance Lay industry, finance; Two thousand years' Bequest, achievement, saving disappears, In blood and tears, In widowed woe That slum and palace equal know, In civilization's suicide, — What served thereby, what satisfied? For justice, freedom, right, what wrought? NAUGHT! — Save, after the great cataclysm, perhap On the world's shaken map New lines, more near or far, Binding to King or Czar In fostering hate Some newly vassaled state; And passion, lust and pride made satiate; And just a trace Of lingering smile on Satan's face! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK RIDERS: 56 by STEPHEN CRANE FARE WELL by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE AFTER A VISIT by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE KISS TO THE FLAG by JEAN FRANCOIS VICTOR AICARD ECLOGUE: THE TIMES by WILLIAM BARNES |