on receiving news of the war - david moore lyrics
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snow is a strange white word;
no ice or frost
have asked of bud or bird
for winter’s cost
yet ice and frost and snow
from earth to sky
this summer land doth know
no man knows why
in all men’s hearts it is
some spirit old
hath turned with malign kiss
our lives to mould
red fangs have torn his face
god’s blood is shed
he mourns from his lone place
his children dead
o! ancient crimson curse!
corrode, consume
give back this universe
its pristine bloom
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