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Show I SING THE BATTLE By Harry Kemp. I sing the song of the great, clean guns, that belch forth death at will. Ah, but the wailing mothers, the lifeless forms and still! I sing the song of the billowing flags, the bugles that cry before. Ah, but the skeletons flapping rags, the lips that speak no more! I sing the clash of bayonets and sabers that flash and cleave. And wilt thou sing of maimed ones, toe, that go with pinned-up sleeve? I sing acclaimed generals that bring the victory home. Ah, but the broken bodies that drip live honeycomb! honey-comb! I sing of hosts triumphant, long ranks of marching march-ing men. 'A And wilt thou sing the shadowy hosts thaPnover march again? The Papyrus. |