The Great War

from The Man Who Saw, an electronic edition

Ceres and Bellona

THE cornfield to the battlefield

Said, " Lo, my fruits, how fair!

Pain, and pain only, thou dost yield:

Peace--only peace--I bear."

" False," said the battlefield, " thy claim !

For when War's bolts fly free,

The warrior's thew, the warrior's frame,

Whence are they but from thee ?

"Thou art the thrust of steel right home,

Thou art the cannon's blast,

The fangs of hell and all their foam !

Yea, know thyself at last!"

The sickle glittered in night's noon,

A sword that hews and cleaves!

And that great shield, the golden moon,

Hung 'mid the golden sheaves.