War I abhor; And yet how sweet The sound along the marching street Of drum and fife, and I forget Broken old mothers, and the whole Dark butchery without a soul. Without a soul—save this bright treat Of heady music, sweet as hell; And even my peace-abiding feet Go marching with the marching street, For yonder goes the fife, And what care I for human life! The tears fill my astonished eyes, And my full heart is like to break, And yet it is embannered lies, A dream those drummers make. Oh, it is wickedness to clothe Yon hideous, grinning thing that stalks Hidden in music, like a queen That in a garden of glory walks, Till good men love the thing they loathe; Art, thou hast many infamies, But not an infamy like this. Oh, snap the fife and still the drum, And show the monster as she is. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HIS MOTHER'S SERVICE TO OUR LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON HISTORY OF A LIFE by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER YARROW REVISITED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH I HAVE LOVED by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS TO CHILDREN: 5. DAME HOLIDAY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |