Play, little children, one and all, For holly, holly on the wall. You do not know that millions are This moment in a deadly war; Millions of men whose Christmas bells Are guns' reports and bursting shells; Whose holly berries, made of lead, Take human blood to stain them red; Whose leaves are swords, and bayonets too, To pierce their fellow-mortals through. For now the war is here, and men -- Like cats that stretch their bodies when The light has gone and darkness comes -- Have armed and left their peaceful homes: But men will be, when there's no war, As gentle as you children are. Play, little children, one and all, For holly, holly on the wall. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE MILLINER by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN DELIGHT IN DISORDER by ROBERT HERRICK ON GROWING OLD by JOHN MASEFIELD THE SPELL OF THE YUKON by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE GRAND IS THE SEEN by WALT WHITMAN |