Death in the wood,—In the death-pale lips apart;Death in a whiteness that curdled the blood,Now black to the very heart:The wonder by her was formedWho stands supreme in power;To show that life by the spirit comesShe gave us a soulless flower!
October's bellowing anger breakes and cleavesThe bronzed battalions of the stricken woodIn whose lament I hear a voice that grievesFor battle's fruitless harvest, and the feudOf outrage men. Their lives are like the leavesScattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blownAlong the westering furnace flaring red.O martyred youth and manhood overthrown,The burden of your wrongs is on my head.siegfried sassoon
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