Then ping! ping! ping! ’tis the wrathful warrior’s wrong.
I red in the heart of the foe,
Fulfilling the warrior’s woe.
But this I see before I go—
A beauty blackening battle’s show;
Pictures of home in heart and brain
That blot and blank in my war’s refrain.
A hammer and anvil and lowly cot,
Blossoms ashine and the fruitful vine,
The flying of sparks, the singing of larks