Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Fruits Of Victory - Poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
These be the fruits, O man who would out-loom
The proudest Caesar of Rome's proudest story,
When legion after legion marched to doom
That one man might be clothed in briefest glory;
Torn bodies, bloody fields and the rank lees
Of Conquest's maddening draft, and so a nation,
Fat with much spoil and many victories,
Drifted into decay and desolation.
These be the fruits: Dead men who die in vain,
Maimed broken men, to living death surrendered,
A myriad stricken homes to mourn the slain
Men? Cannon-fodder to the War God tendered,
Deluded boys, primed with vainglorious dreams
Of flashing steel, romance - war's outworn story
Sent forth to gasp young lives out in foul streams
Of fetid gas - meet attributes of glory!
These be the fruits: This tortured shred of flesh,
Lately a youth, with youth's bright gifts scarce tasted
Sent to the shambles, while, still clear and fresh
In minds of men, the Lesson lingers, wasted
The Lesson tought but lately; and so plain,
That even fools its wisdom here might borrow;
For victor and for vanquished, war's sole gain
Lies in long after years of pain and sorrow.
Fruits? Dead-sea fruits, most bitter with the taste
Of all war's grim bequest of worse confusion.
God and men's bodies, fruitful earth laid waste
Not in dire need, but for a vain delusion,
And, in the end, a tinsel god who prates
Of hollow victories, crying, 'Tomorrow
Shall we triumphant rise!' While at the gates
Lurks a land's heritage - relentless Sorrow.
Comments about Fruits Of Victory by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe