Such wails between the notes, I fear,
As you never had cared to hear again.
The dead heaped down in the dried-up wells,
The dead, like corn, in the fertile fields
You had plowed and crossed with your cannon wheels,
The dead in towns that were burning hells
Because the water was under your heels!
They thirsted! You drank at the Jubilee,
My generals, lords and gentlemen,
Drank as you hardly may come to when