Pure as unfooted snow under the moon?
III
How did we cast away our careless days
In that old time before we knew their worth,
Wandering with chance, even as a child that strays,
Spilling their unprized splendors on the earth!
But now we have eaten War as daily bread,
Borne it upon our souls a weary weight,
Made it the pillow to a restless head,
Breathed it as air, sick with the reek of hate: