No, Lucullus,
But the good host who—plants his cherry-trees!
Love? I have loved once, once.... That awful day
We stormed in through the gates of Amisus....
The loot-mad soldiers, howling, smote the town
Down in a mud of blood and dirt and wine,
Bodies and gold and priceless tapestries.
Half-mad I rushed to stop them, beat and struck;
I think they would have murdered me at once,
But that one drunkard yelled “The General!