Nothing Is The Mirror In Which You

On The Steps Is A Machine-gun Ready For Action. The Square Is Empty; Only The Streets That Lead Into It Are Jammed With People. It Would Be Madness To Go Farther - The Machine-gun Is Covering The Square.

(ravic Speaking Of A Butterfly Caught In The Louvre) In The Morning It Would Search For Flowers And Life And The Light Honey Of Blossoms And Would Not Find Them And Later It Would Fall Asleep On Millennial Marble, Weakened By Then, Until The Grip Of The Delicate, Tenacious Feet Loosened And It Fell, A Thin Leaf Of Premature Autumn.

We Were All At Once Terribly Alone; And Alone We Must See It Through.

There Was Only The Broad Square With The Scattered Dim Moons Of The Street Lamps And With The Monumental Stone Arch Which Receded Into The Mist As Though It Would Prop Up The Melancholy Sky And Protect Beneath Itself The Faint Lonely Flame On The Tomb Of The Unknown Soldier, Which Looked Like The Last Grave Of Mankind In The Midst Of Night And Loneliness.

Bombardment, Barrage, Curtain-fire, Mines, Gas, Tanks, Machine-guns, Hand-grenades - Words, Words, But They Hold The Horror Of The World.