1899
                          WAR IS KIND AND OTHER LINES
                                by Stephen Crane
    I

    Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
    Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
    And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
    Do not weep.
    War is kind.

              Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
              Little souls who thirst for fight,
              These men were born to drill and die.
              The unexplained glory flies above them,
              Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom --
              A field where a thousand corpses lie.

    Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
    Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
    Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
    Do not weep.
    War is kind.

              Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
              Eagle with crest of red and gold,
              These men were born to drill and die.
              Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
              Make plain to them the excellence of killing
              And a field where a thousand corpses lie.

    Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
    On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
    Do not weep.
    War is kind.
    II

   "What says the sea, little shell?
    What says the sea?
    Long has our brother been silent to us,
    Kept his message for the ships,
    Awkward ships, stupid ships."

   "The sea bids you mourn, O Pines,
    Sing low in the moonlight.
    He sends tale of the land of doom,
    Of place where endless falls
    A rain of women's tears,
    And men in grey robes --
    Men in grey robes --
    Chant the unknown pain."

   "What says the sea, little shell?
    What says the sea?
    Long has our brother been silent to us,
    Kept his message for the ships,
    Puny ships, silly ships."

   "The sea bids you teach, O Pines,
    Sing low in the moonlight;
    Teach the gold of patience,
    Cry gospel of gentle hands,
    Cry a brotherhood of hearts.
    The sea bids you teach, O Pines."

   "And where is the reward, little shell?
    What says the sea?
    Long has our brother been silent to us,
    Kept his message for the ships,
    Puny ships, silly ships."

   "No word says the sea, O Pines,
    No word says the sea.
    Long will your brother be silent to you,
    Keep his message for the ships,
    O puny pines, silly pines."
    III

    To the maiden
    The sea was blue meadow,
    Alive with little froth-people
    Singing.

    To the sailor, wrecked,
    The sea was dead grey walls
    Superlative in vacancy,
    Upon which nevertheless at fateful time
    Was written
    The grim hatred of nature.
    IV

    A little ink more or less!
    I surely can't matter?
    Even the sky and the opulent sea,
    The plains and the hills, aloof,
    Hear the uproar of all these books.
    But it is only a little ink more or less.

    What?
    You define me God with these trinkets?