A WAR SONG
The wounded bird to its blasted nest,
(Sing ho! for the joys of war!)
When the sun of its life veers o'er to the West,
(Sing ho! for the war, for the war!)
The wounded fox to its cave in the hill,
And the blood-dyed wolf to the snow-waste chill,
And the mangled elk to the wild-wood rill,
(Sing ho! for the price of war!)
The nest-queen harks to her master's hurts,
(Sing ho! for the wounds of war!)
And the she-fox busies with woodland worts,
(Sing ho! for the end of war!)
The she-wolf staunches the warm red flood,
And the doe is besmeared with the spurting blood,
For 'tis ever the weak that must help the strong,
Though they have no part in the triumph song,
And their glory is brief as their work is long—
(Sing ho! for the saints of war!)
