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 And we cry, "Without an inexorable cause, this must not be!" No woman who is a woman says of a human body, "It is nothing!"

The Arsenal at Springfield

(Probably the most popular of American poets, 1807-1882)

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms; But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing Startles the villages with strange alarms.

Ah! what a sound will rise—how wild and dreary— When the death-angel touches those swift keys! What loud lament and dismal Miserere Will mingle with their awful symphonies!

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus— The cries of agony, the endless groan, Which, through the ages that have gone before us, In long reverberations reach our own

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, With such accursed instruments as these, Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices, And; arrest the celestial harmonies?

Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts.