At first the younger writers as well were possessed with the same madness for war; but, in contact with the sufferings they endured and inflicted, it quickly disappeared. Fritz von Unruh enlisted as a Uhlan, and left for the front, crying "Paris, Paris is our goal!" Since the Battle of the Aisne, in September, he has written "Der Lamm": "_Lamb of God, I have seen thy look of suffering. Give us peace and rest; lead us back to the heaven of love, and give us back our dead_." Rudolf Leonhard sang of war at the beginning, and is still fighting; on re-reading his poems shortly afterwards, he wrote on the front page: "_These were written during the madness of the first weeks. That madness has spent itself, and only our strength is left. We shall again win control over ourselves and love one another._" Poets, hitherto unknown, are revealed by the cry of compassion wrung from their anguished hearts. To Andrea Fram, who has remained at home, it is a grief that he does not suffer, whilst thousands of others suffer and die. "_All thy love, and all thy agony, in spite of thy ardent desire, avail not to soothe the last hour of a single man who is dying yonder._" Upon Ludwig Marck each minute weighs like a nightmare:-- Menschen in Not.... Brüder dir tot.... Krieg ist im Land.... The poet who writes under the pseudonym of Dr. Owlglass proposed a new ideal for Germany, on the seventieth anniversary of the birth of Nietzsche (October 15th): not the superman, but at least--man. And Franz Werfel realizes this ideal in poems thrilling with a mournful humanity, which takes part in the sacrament of misery and death: "_We are bound together not only by our common words and deeds, but still more by the dying glance, the last hours, the mortal anguish of the breaking heart. And whether you bow down before the tyrant, or gaze trembling into the beloved's countenance, or mark down your enemy with pitiless glance, think of the eye that will grow dim, of the failing breath, the parched lips and clenched hands, the final solitude, and the brow that grows moist in the last agony.... Be kind.... Tenderness is wisdom, kindness is reason[31].... We are strangers all upon this earth, and die but to be reunited._"[32]