Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, More ponderous than nimble; For since grimed War here laid aside His Orient pomp, 'twould ill befit Overmuch to ply The rhyme's barbaric cymbal. Hail to victory without the gaud Of glory; zeal that needs no fans Of banners; plain mechanic power Plied cogently in War now placed -- Where War belongs -- Among the trades and artisans. Yet this was battle, and intense -- Beyond the strife of fleets heroic; Deadlier, closer, calm 'mid storm; No passion; all went on by crank, Pivot, and screw, And calculations of caloric. Needless to dwell; the story's known. The ringing of those plates on plates Still ringeth round the world -- The clangor of that blacksmiths' fray. The anvil-din Resounds this message from the Fates: War yet shall be, and to the end; But war-paint shows the streaks of weather; War yet shall be, but warriors Are now but operatives; War's made Less grand than Peace, And a singe runs through lace and feather. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FIRST FRUIT by ISAAC ROSENBERG MOTHER EARTH by GEORGE SANTAYANA ADAM AND HIS FATHER by KAREN SWENSON THE BALLAD OF LOVELY LADYES OF LONG AGOE by FRANCOIS VILLON TO BE CLOSELY WRITTEN ON A SMALL PIECE OF PAPER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS |