My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

This Is War: Boys Flung Into A Breach Like Shoveled Earth; And Old Men, Broken, Driving Rapidly Before Crowds Of People In A Glitter Of Silly Decorations. Behind The Boys And The Old Men, Life Weeps, And Shreds Her Garments To The Blowing Winds.

Without Poetry The Soul And Heart Of Man Starves And Dies.

Now You Are Come! You Tremble Like A Star Poised Where, Behind Earth's Rim, The Sun Has Set. Your Voice Has Sung Across My Heart, But Numb And Mute, I Have No Tones To Answer.

Not A Softness Anywhere About Me, Only Whalebone And Brocade.