I saw the muse, it saith to me

In endless sojourn take that door

To harm and hope and know the lea

There in the darkness hollering.

Then came the ashes; fine felt rain

That ring the brassy trumps of war

To free the soul with seas of pain

And sunder once the goloring.

Presume to die; but follow once

The passage past the silken moor

To show the ages’ futile nonce

That war that has them sorrowing.

We goad the rages of this toil

To show the futile course of war

And snow in blood begins to boil

The ends of all tomorrowing.

Rise the whisper of the fright

That held the secret dark word’s lore

To hold the blood and paint the bight

The spectre grimly following.

Despair! Then know the futile path

That led the nations to their war

To answer once the one Fool’s wrath

In deepest darkness hollowing.