To such a shameful brood?

A bow as crimson as the sword

Which men have soakt in blood.

 ii 

ii

I cannot see the grass

Or feel the wind blowing,

But I think of brother and brother

And hot blood flowing.

[Pg 8]

The whole world akin,

And I, an alien,

Walk branded with the sin

And the blood-guilt of men.

And often I cry

In my sharp distress,

It were better to die

Than know such bitterness.

 iii 

iii

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