But I Like It Because It Is

But I Like It Because It Is Bitter, And Because It Is My Heart.

He Vaguely Desired To Walk Around And Around The Body And Stare; The Impulse Of The Living To Try To Read In Dead Eyes The Answer To The Question.

Mother, Whose Heart Hung Humble As A Button The Bright Splendid Shroud Of Your Son, Do Not Weep. War Is Kind.

Do Not Weep, Maiden, For War Is Kind. Because Your Lover Threw Wild Hands Toward The Sky And The Affrighted Steed Ran On Alone, Do Not Weep. War Is Kind. Hoarse, Booming Drums Of The Regiment, Little Souls Who Thirst For Fight, These Men Were Born To Drill And Die. The Unexplained Glory Flies Above Them, Great Is The Battle-god, Great, And His Kingdom -a Field Where A Thousand Corpses Lie. Do Not Weep, Babe, For War Is Kind.

Philosophy Should Always Know That Indifference Is A Militant Thing. It Batters Down The Walls Of Cities And Murders The Women And Children Amid The Flames And The Purloining Of Altar Vessels. When It Goes Away It Leaves Smoking Ruins, Where Lie Citizens Bayonetted Through The Throat. It Is Not A Children's Pastime Like Mere Highway Robbery.