D. H. LAWRENCE
ERINNYES
There has been so much noise,
Bleeding and shouting and dying,
Clamour of death.
There are so many dead,
Many have died unconsenting,
Their ghosts are angry, unappeased.
So many ghosts among us,
Invisible, yet strong,
Between me and thee, so many ghosts of the slain.
They come back, over the white sea, in the mist,
Invisible, trooping home, the unassuaged ghosts
Endlessly returning on the uneasy sea.
They set foot on this land to which they have the right,
They return relentlessly, in the silence one knows their tread,
Multitudinous, endless, the ghosts coming home again.
They watch us, they press on us,
They press their claim upon us,
They are angry with us.
What do they want?
We are driven mad,
Madly we rush hither and thither:
Shouting, “Revenge, Revenge,”
Crying, “Pour out the blood of the foe,”
Seeking to appease with blood the insistent ghosts.
Out of blood rise up new ghosts,
Grey, stern, angry, unsatisfied,
The more we slay and are slain, the more we raise up new ghosts against us.