Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, More ponderous than nimble; For since grimed War here laid aside His Orient pomp, 'twould ill befit Overmuch to ply The rhyme's barbaric cymbal. Hail to victory without the gaud Of glory; zeal that needs no fans Of banners; plain mechanic power Plied cogently in War now placed -- Where War belongs -- Among the trades and artisans. Yet this was battle, and intense -- Beyond the strife of fleets heroic; Deadlier, closer, calm 'mid storm; No passion; all went on by crank, Pivot, and screw, And calculations of caloric. Needless to dwell; the story's known. The ringing of those plates on plates Still ringeth round the world -- The clangor of that blacksmiths' fray. The anvil-din Resounds this message from the Fates: War yet shall be, and to the end; But war-paint shows the streaks of weather; War yet shall be, but warriors Are now but operatives; War's made Less grand than Peace, And a singe runs through lace and feather. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON CRITICS; IN IMITATION OF ANACREON by MATTHEW PRIOR LOUSE HUNTING by ISAAC ROSENBERG BISHOP HATTO [AND THE RATS] by ROBERT SOUTHEY JANUARY MORNING by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 1. THE FIRST SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) A YOUNG LASS'S SOLILOQUY by REBEKAH CARMICHAEL |