The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds. On Seeing a Piece of Our Artillery Brought into Action (Wilfred Owen) Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm, Great gun towering towards Heaven, about to curse; Sway steep against them, and for years rehearse Huge imprecations like a blasting charm! Reach at that Arrogance which needs thy harm, And beat it down before its sins grow worse; Spend our resentment, cannon,--yea, disburse Our gold in shapes of flame, our breaths in storm. Yet, for men's sakes whom thy vast malison
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds. On Seeing a Piece of Our Artillery Brought into Action (Wilfred Owen) Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm, Great gun towering towards Heaven, about to curse; Sway steep against them, and for years rehearse Huge imprecations like a blasting charm! Reach at that Arrogance which needs thy harm, And beat it down before its sins grow worse; Spend our resentment, cannon,--yea, disburse Our gold in shapes of flame, our breaths in storm. Yet, for men's sakes whom thy vast malison