In Me The Tiger Sniffs The Rose.

Let My Soul, A Shining Tree, Silver Branches Lift Towards Thee, Where On A Hallowed Winter's Night The Clear-eyed Angels May Alight.

I Have Seen And Endured The Sufferings Of The Troops, And I Can No Longer Be A Party To Prolong These Sufferings For Ends Which I Believe To Be Evil And Unjust.

In Me The Tiger Sniffs The Rose.

And The Wind Upon Its Way Whispered The Boughs Of May, And Touched The Nodding Peony Flowers To Bid Them Waken.

Soldiers Are Citizens Of Death's Grey Land, Drawing No Dividend From Time's Tomorrows.