Stripped clean of Christian twaddle, as we'll say The Greeks beheld the Persians. Well, behold All honest paganism in such things discarded For God who comes in glory, trampling presses Filled up with grapes of wrath. Now hear me out: I knew we'd have a war, it wasn't only That your hogocracy was grunting war We'd fight Japan, take Mexico--remember How dancing flourished madly in the land; Then think of savages who dance the Ghost Dance, And cattle lowing, rushing in a panic, There's psychic secrets here. But then at last What can you do with life? You're well and strong, Flushed with desire, mad with appetites, You turn this way and find a sign forbidden, You turn that way and find the door is closed. Hogocracy, King Demos say, go back, Find work, develop character, restrain, Draw up your belt a little tighter, hunger And thirst diminish with a tighter belt. And none to say, take off the belt and eat, Here's water for you. Well, you have a war. We used to say in foot ball kick their shins, And gouge their eyes out--when our shins were kicked We hollered foul and ouch. There was the south Who called us mud-sills in this freer north, And mouthed democracy; and as for that Their churches made of God a battle leader, An idea come from Palestine; oh, yes, They soon would wipe us up, they were the people. But when we slaughtered them they hollered ouch. And why not? For a gun and uniform, And bands that play are rapturous enough. But when you get a bullet through the heart, The game is not so funny as it was. That's why I hated Germany and hate her, And feel we could not let this German culture Spread over earth. That culture was but this: Life must have an expression and a game, And war's the game, besides the prize is great In land and treasure, commerce, let us play, It lets the people's passions have a vent When fires of life burn hot and hotter under The kettle and the lid is clamped by work, Dull duty, daily routine, inhibitions. Before this Elenor Murray woke to life LeRoy was stirring, but the stir was play. It was a Gretna Green, and pleasure boats Ran up and down the river--on the streets You heard the cry of barkers, in the park The band was playing, and you heard the ring Of registers at fountains and buffets. All this was shabby maybe, but observe There are those souls who see the wrath of God As blackest background to the light of soul: And when the thunder rumbles and the storm Comes up with lightning then they say to men Who laugh in bar-rooms, "Have a care, blasphemers, You may be struck by lightning"--here's the root From which this mood ascetic comes to leaf In all theocracies, and throws a shadow Upon all freedom.