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 Suddenly to know the linen foully spotted,

To see the white hair streaked with dripping blood.

O these pools and ponds of blood,

Slowly dripped in, slowly brimming lakes,

Blood of the young men, blood of their bodies,

Squeezed and crushed out to purple the garments of Dives,

Poured out to colour the lips of Magdalen,

Magdalen who loves not, whose sins are loveless.

O this steady drain of the weary bodies,

The beating of hearts growing dimmer and dimmer,

This bitter indifference of the old men,

This exquisite indifference of women.

Old men, you will grow stronger and healthier

With broad red cheeks and clear hard eyes—

Is not your meat and drink the choicest?

Blood of the young, dear flesh of the young men?

Ah, you women, cruel exquisite women,

What a love-fountain is poured out for you,

What coloured streams for your pleasure!

Go your ways, pass on, forget them;

Give your lips and breasts to the old men,

The kindly, impetuous, glowing, old men!

They who will love you indeed, indeed, dears,