But this—” she pointed o’er the blistered plain,
Where men as Gods and devils wrought amain—
“This is beyond me! Take thy work again.”
Tablets and pen transferred, she fled afar,
And Truth assumed the record of the War....
She saw, she heard, she read, she tried to tell
Facts beyond precedent and parallel—
Unfit to hint or breathe, much less to write,
But happening every minute, day and night.
She called for proof. It came. The dossiers grew.