I know not where I go, O Wind that calls afar: O Wind that calls for war, Where the Death-Moon doth glow In a darkness without star. Nor do I know the blare Of the bugles that call: Nor who rise, nor who fall: Nor if the torches flare Where the gods laugh, or crawl. But I hear, I hear the hum, The multitudinous cry, Where myriads fly, And I hear a voice say, Come: And the same voice say, Die! What is the war, O Wind? Lo, without shield or spear How can I draw it near? I am deaf and dumb and blind With immeasurable fear. |