This blood debauch and delirium,
Love’s hand palsied, truth’s tongue dumb,—
Blotting brave brains of mothers’ refrains,
Voices of children, enchantments of home,
The-Cathedral-of-man’s earth-rounding dome
Which visioning together might well have wrought,
Out of the heart of brothering thought.
And now that our screaming wrath is done,
And our place in the sky is filled with birds
Whose songs seem the voice of the gracious sun,