Peace of roses in a rain-sweet garden,
Peace of moonlit silver-heaving waters,
All the lovely looks of little children?
What strange mandate
Bids thee sing of War, who lovest these things?
“How of War, O faint-heart, thou that grievest
Over every gentle creature wounded,
All soft eyes of pain and puzzled sorrow,
All the lithe limbs marred, the wild wings broken?
What black magic