Untitled+by+George+Henry+Boker

Untitled - George Henry Boker

Blood, blood! The lines of every printed sheet  Through their dark arteries reek with running gore;  At hearth, at board, before the household door, 'T is the sole subject with which neighbors meet. Girls at the feast, and children in the street,  Prattle of horrors; flash their little store  Of simple jests against the cannon's roar, As if mere slaughter kept existence sweet. O, heaven, I quail at the familiar way  This fool, the world, disports his jingling cap; Murdering or dying with one grin agap! Our very Love comes draggled from the fray,  Smiling at victory, scowling at mishap, With gory Death companioned and at play.

George Boker