The blood runs apace, and gone is the face
Of baby and wife.
Of love and of life.
Siep! siep! siep!
When from rifles of warriors I leap.
This, this is why sweet children cry
And wives and mothers vainly weep.
VII
’Twas wild wrath-riot, ’twas riot of death,
This bacchanal black making war’s red wrack,