Is there a madness underneath the sun More strange, more terrible? or any one More pitiful than this, that for a star A mother sells her flesh and blood to war? A son for slaughter, and a star for praise! Nor this the total madness of our days, A son to slay some other mother's son, And by such murder mother's blessing won! The Hindu mother, by the Ganges tide Drowning her babe, heart-broken, but with pride, Poor blind purveyor to a Saurian feast, Still spares her babe from murder's maw, at least. Is there debauchery more deep than this? The State betraying mothers with a kiss? Bribing the Marys of the world to sell, For tinselled star, their flesh and blood to hell! |