His Wet White Face And

October's Bellowing Anger Breakes And Cleavesthe Bronzed Battalions Of The Stricken Woodin Whose Lament I Hear A Voice That Grievesfor Battle's Fruitless Harvest, And The Feudof Outrage Men. Their Lives Are Like The Leavesscattered In Flocks Of Ruin, Tossed And Blownalong The Westering Furnace Flaring Red.o Martyred Youth And Manhood Overthrown,the Burden Of Your Wrongs Is On My Head.

Mud And Rain And Wretchedness And Blood. Why Should Jolly Soldier-boys Complain? God Made These Before The Roofless Flood - Mud And Rain.

And When The War Is Done And Youth Stone Dead, I'd Toddle Safely Home And Die--in Bed.

The Song Was Wordless; The Singing Will Never Be Done.

Man, It Seemed, Had Been Created To Jab The Life Out Of Germans.