In the morning glad I see My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.

I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow.

Children of the future Age Reading this indignant page, Know that in a former time Love! sweet Love! was thought a crime.

My mother groan'd! my father wept. Into the dangerous world I leapt: Helpless, naked, piping loud: Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

There had been a war fought and won and the great city of the conquering people was crossed with triumphal arches and vivid with thrown flowers of white, red, …

Il est doux de perir apres ses ennemis.

And with glorious triumph, they Rode through England proud and gay, Drunk as with intoxication Of the wine of desolation.