War I abhor; And yet how sweet The sound along the marching street Of drum and fife, and I forget Broken old mothers, and the whole Dark butchery without a soul. Without a soul—save this bright treat Of heady music, sweet as hell; And even my peace-abiding feet Go marching with the marching street, For yonder goes the fife, And what care I for human life! The tears fill my astonished eyes, And my full heart is like to break, And yet it is embannered lies, A dream those drummers make. Oh, it is wickedness to clothe Yon hideous, grinning thing that stalks Hidden in music, like a queen That in a garden of glory walks, Till good men love the thing they loathe; Art, thou hast many infamies, But not an infamy like this. Oh, snap the fife and still the drum, And show the monster as she is. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST WORD OF A BLUEBIRD; AS TOLD TO A CHILD by ROBERT FROST TO THE SOUR READER by ROBERT HERRICK TO MY FIANCEE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS GIVE HIM HIS DUE by LEVI BISHOP THE LONG TRUCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |