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Rh That make quick points in the kindling street...

These will not work in the shipyards to-day, nor in the munition factories.

They will go through the town in long procession, shouting and beating their little pails—

Yet solemn, too, remembering the dead, Remembering the countless and unutterable dead!

Light

Runs on the roofs of the City with a scarlet foot, and the ways of the City are passionate with people trampling out a song!

The Day is like a courier spurring a bright horse, that leaps resplendent out of the East and flings the news before:

"They have signed the armistice in the Forest of Compiègne..."

Now triumph wakes, and each articulate spire

Clashes its silver on the answering din—

The sun has thrust a ruby finger into the mist, and tears it, and the banners show through,

So all the housewalls are in color, and the avenues are tremulous with flame!

Trade turns no wheel and profit is abhorred;

Stout Business has forgot its clamoring belly,

For once grows ponderously human, and being pricked with madness,