Page:The Book of the Homeless (New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1916).djvu/65

COMTESSE DE NOAILLES 

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that behold our world upon its way,

Pure legions camped upon the plains of night,

Mute watchful hosts of heaven, what must you say

When men destroy each other in their might?

Upon their deadly race each runner starts,

Nor one but will his brothers all outrun!

Ah, see their blood jet upward to the sun

Like living fountains refluent on our hearts!

O dead divinely for so great a faith,  [ 21 ]