The Great War

from A Calendar of Verse, an electronic edition

To Peace

The cup, the ruby cup

Whence anguish drips,

At last is lifted up

Against our lips.

Though we, till seas run dry,

Your lovers are,

How can we put it by,

Red cup of war?

We champion your task;

Your wounds we bind;

Behind the battle-mask

Our eyes are kind.

Over this foaming edge

Of blood and flame

With shuddering lips we pledge

Your name.