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diff --git a/old/scwar10.txt b/old/scwar10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c24f7fa --- /dev/null +++ b/old/scwar10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1214 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of War is Kind, by Stephen Crane +#6 in our series by Stephen Crane + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: War is Kind + +Author: Stephen Crane + +Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9870] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 26, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR IS KIND *** + + + + + +WAR IS KIND + +by Stephen Crane + +Drawings by Will Bradley + +1899 + + + +Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. +Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky +And the affrighted steed ran on alone, +Do not weep. +War is kind. + + Hoarse, booming drums of the + regiment, + Little souls who thirst for fight, + These men were born to drill and die. + The unexplained glory files above + them, + Great is the battle-god, great, and his + kingdom-- + A field where a thousand corpses lie. + +Do not weep, babe, for war is kind. +Because your father tumbled in the yellow + trenches, +Raged at his breast, gulped and died, +Do not weep. +War is kind. + + Swift blazing flag of the regiment, + Eagle with crest of red and gold, + These men were born to drill and die. + Point for them the virtue of the slaughter, + Make plain to them the excellence of killing + And a field where a thousand corpses + lie. + +Mother whose heart hung humble as a button +On the bright splendid shroud of your son, +Do not weep. +War is kind. + + + + +What says the sea, little shell? +"What says the sea? +"Long has our brother been silent to us, +"Kept his message for the ships, +"Awkward ships, stupid ships." + +"The sea bids you mourn, O Pines, +"Sing low in the moonlight. +"He sends tale of the land of doom, +"Of place where endless falls +"A rain of women's tears, +"And men in grey robes-- +"Men in grey robes-- +"Chant the unknown pain." + +"What says the sea, little shell? +"What says the sea? +"Long has our brother been silent to us, +"Kept is message for the ships, +"Puny ships, silly ships." + +"The sea bids you teach, O Pines, +"Sing low in the moonlight; +"Teach the gold of patience, +"Cry gospel of gentle hands, +"Cry a brotherhood of hearts. +"The sea bids you teach, O Pines." + +"And where is the reward, little shell? +"What says the sea? +"Long has our brother been silent to us, +"Kept his message for the ships, +"Puny ships, silly ships." + +"No word says the sea, O Pines, +"No word says the sea. +"Long will your brother be silent to you, +"Keep his message for the ships, +"O puny ships, silly pines." + + + + +To the maiden +The sea was blue meadow, +Alive with little froth-people +Singing. + +To the sailor, wrecked, +The sea was dead grey walls +Superlative in vacancy, +Upon which nevertheless at fateful time +Was written +The grim hatred of nature. + + + + +A little ink more or less! +It surely can't matter? +Even the sky and the opulent sea, +The plains and the hills, aloof, +Hear the uproar of all these books. +But it is only a little ink more or less. + +What? +You define me God with these trinkets? +Can my misery meal on an ordered walking +Of surpliced numskulls? +And a fanfare of lights? +Or even upon the measured pulpitings +Of the familiar false and true? +Is this God? +Where, then is hell? +Show me some bastard mushrooms +Sprung from a pollution of blood. +It is better. + +Where is God? + + + + +"Have you ever made a just man?" +"Oh, I have made three," answered + God, +"But two of them are dead, +"And the third-- +"Listen! Listen! +"And you will hear the thud of his defeat." + + + + +I explain the silvered passing of a ship + at night, +The sweep of each sad lost wave, +The dwindling boom of the steel thing's striving, +The little cry of a man to a man, +A shadow falling across the greyer night, +And the sinking of the small star; + +Then the waste, the far waste of waters, +And the soft lashing of black waves +For long and in loneliness. + +Remember, thou, O ship of love, +Thou leavest a far waste of waters, +And the soft lashing of black waves +For long and in loneliness. + + + + +"I have heard the sunset song of the + birches, +"A white melody in the silence, +"I have seen a quarrel of the pines. +"At nightfall +"The little grasses have rushed by me +"With the wind men. +"These things have I lived," quoth the + maniac, +"Possessing only eyes and ears. +"But you-- +"You don green spectacles before you look at roses." + + + + +Fast rode the knight +With spurs, hot and reeking, +Ever waving an eager sword, +"To save my lady!" +Fast rode the knight, +And leaped from saddle to war. +Men of steel flickered and gleamed +Like riot of silver lights, +And the gold of the knight's good banner +Still waved on a castle wall. +. . . . . . . +A horse, +Blowing, staggering, bloody thing, +Forgotten at foot of castle wall. +A horse +Dead at foot of castle wall. + + + + +Forth went the candid man +And spoke freely to the wind-- +When he looked about him he was in a far + strange country. + +Forth went the candid man +And spoke freely to the stars-- +Yellow light tore sight from his eye. + +"My good fool," said a learned bystander, +"Your operations are mad." + +"You are too candid," cried the candid man. +And when his stick left the head of the + learned bystander +It was two sticks. + + + + +You tell me this is God? +I tell you this is a printed list, +A burning candle and an ass. + + + + +On the desert +A silence from the moon's deepest + valley. +Fire rays fall athwart the robes +Of hooded men, squat and dumb. +Before them, a woman +Moves to the blowing of shrill whistles +And distant thunder of drums, +While mystic things, sinuous, dull with + terrible color, +Sleepily fondle her body +Or move at her will, swishing stealthily over + the sand. +The snakes whisper softly; +The whispering, whispering snakes, +Dreaming and swaying and staring, +But always whispering, softly whispering. +The wind streams from the lone reaches +Of Arabia, solemn with night, +And the wild fire makes shimmer of blood +Over the robes of the hooded men +Squat and dumb. + +Bands of moving bronze, emerald, yellow, +Circle the throat and arms of her, +And over the sands serpents move warily +Slow, menacing and submissive, +Swinging to the whistles and drums, +The whispering, whispering snakes, +Dreaming and swaying and staring, +But always whispering, softly whispering. +The dignity of the accursed; +The glory of slavery, despair, death, +Is in the dance of the whispering snakes. + + + + +A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices +Which, bawled by boys from mile to mile, +Spreads its curious opinion +To a million merciful and sneering men, +While families cuddle the joys of the fireside +When spurred by tale of dire lone agony. +A newspaper is a court +Where every one is kindly and unfairly tried +By a squalor of honest men. +A newspaper is a market +Where wisdom sells its freedom +And melons are crowned by the crowd. +A newspaper is a game +Where his error scores the player victory +While another's skill wins death. +A newspaper is a symbol; +It is fetless life's chronical, +A collection of loud tales +Concentrating eternal stupidities, +That in remote ages lived unhaltered, +Roaming through a fenceless world. + + + + +The wayfarer, +Perceiving the pathway to truth, +Was struck with astonishment. +It was thickly grown with weeds. +"Ha," he said, +"I see that none has passed here +"In a long time." +Later he saw that each weed +Was a singular knife. +"Well," he mumbled at last, +"Doubtless there are other roads." + + + + +A slant of sun on dull brown walls, +A forgotten sky of bashful blue. + +Toward God a mighty hymn, +A song of collisions and cries, +Rumbling wheels, hoof-beats, bells, +Welcomes, farewells, love-calls, final moans, +Voices of joy, idiocy, warning, despair, +The unknown appeals of brutes, +The chanting of flowers, +The screams of cut trees, +The senseless babble of hens and wise men-- +A cluttered incoherency that says at the + stars; +"O God, save us!" + + + + +Once a man clambering to the housetops +Appealed to the heavens. +With a strong voice he called to the deaf + spheres; +A warrior's shout he raised to the suns. +Lo, at last, there was a dot on the clouds, +And--at last and at last-- +--God--the sky was filled with armies. + + + + +There was a man with tongue of wood +Who essayed to sing, +And in truth it was lamentable. +But there was one who heard +The clip-clapper of this tongue of wood +And knew what the man +Wished to sing, +And with that the singer was content. + + + + +The successful man has thrust himself +Through the water of the years, +Reeking wet with mistakes,-- +Bloody mistakes; +Slimed with victories over the lesser, +A figure thankful on the shore of money. +Then, with the bones of fools +He buys silken banners +Limned with his triumphant face; +With the skins of wise men +He buys the trivial bows of all. +Flesh painted with marrow +Contributes a coverlet, +A coverlet for his contented slumber. +In guiltless ignorance, in ignorant guilt, +He delivered his secrets to the riven multitude. + "Thus I defended: Thus I wrought." +Complacent, smiling, +He stands heavily on the dead. +Erect on a pillar of skulls +He declaims his trampling of babes; +Smirking, fat, dripping, +He makes speech in guiltless ignorance, +Innocence. + + + + +In the night +Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys, +And the peaks looked toward God alone. + "O Master that movest the wind with a + finger, + "Humble, idle, futile peaks are we. + "Grant that we may run swiftly across + the world + "To huddle in worship at Thy feet." + +In the morning +A noise of men at work came the clear blue miles, +And the little black cities were apparent. + "O Master that knowest the meaning of raindrops, + "Humble, idle, futile peaks are we. + "Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord, + "That we may sing Thy goodness to the sun." +In the evening +The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights. + "O Master, + "Thou that knowest the value of kings and birds, + "Thou hast made us humble, idle, futile peaks. + "Thous only needest eternal patience; + "We bow to Thy wisdom, O Lord-- + "Humble, idle, futile peaks." + +In the night +Grey heavy clouds muffles the valleys, +And the peaks looked toward God alone. + + + +The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top. + +Blood--blood and torn grass-- +Had marked the rise of his agony-- +This lone hunter. +The grey-green woods impassive +Had watched the threshing of his limbs. + +A canoe with flashing paddle, +A girl with soft searching eyes, +A call: "John!" +. . . . . . . +Come, arise, hunter! +Can you not hear? + +The chatter of a death-demon from a tree- + top. + + + +The impact of a dollar upon the heart + Smiles warm red light, +Sweeping from the hearth rosily upon the + white table, +With the hanging cool velvet shadows +Moving softly upon the door. + +The impact of a million dollars +Is a crash of flunkys, +And yawning emblems of Persia +Cheeked against oak, France and a sabre, +The outcry of old beauty +Whored by pimping merchants +To submission before wine and chatter. +Silly rich peasants stamp the carpets of men, +Dead men who dreamed fragrance and light +Into their woof, their lives; +The rug of an honest bear +Under the feet of a cryptic slave +Who speaks always of baubles, +Forgetting state, multitude, work, and state, +Champing and mouthing of hats, +Making ratful squeak of hats, +Hats. + + + +A man said to the universe: + "Sir, I exist!" +"However," replied the universe, +"The fact has not created in me +"A sense of obligation." + + + +When the prophet, a complacent fat + man, +Arrived at the mountain-top, +He cried: "Woe to my knowledge! +"I intended to see good white lands +"And bad black lands, +"But the scene is grey." + + + +There was a land where lived no + violets. +A traveller at once demanded: "Why?" +The people told him: +"Once the violets of this place spoke thus: +"'Until some woman freely give her lover +"'To another woman +"'We will fight in bloody scuffle.'" +Sadly the people added: +"There are no violets here." + + + +There was one I met upon the road +Who looked at me with kind eyes. +He said: "Show me of your wares." +And I did, +Holding forth one, +He said: "It is a sin." +Then I held forth another. +He said: "It is a sin." +Then I held forth another. +He said: "It is a sin." +And so to the end. +Always He said: "It is a sin." +At last, I cried out: +"But I have non other." +He looked at me +With kinder eyes. +"Poor soul," he said. + + + +Aye, workman, make me a dream, +A dream for my love. +Cunningly weave sunlight, +Breezes, and flowers. +Let it be of the cloth of meadows. +And--good workman-- +And let there be a man walking thereon. + + + +Each small gleam was a voice, +A lantern voice-- +In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold. +A chorus of colors came over the water; +The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer wavered, +No pines crooned on the hills, +The blue night was elsewhere a silence, +When the chorus of colors came over the + water, +Little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold. + +Small glowing pebbles +Thrown on the dark plane of evening +Sing good ballads of God +And eternity, with soul's rest. +Little priests, little holy fathers, +None can doubt the truth of hour hymning. +When the marvellous chorus comes over the + water, +Songs of carmine, violet, green, gold. + + + +The trees in the garden rained flowers. +Children ran there joyously. +They gathered the flowers +Each to himself. +Now there were some +Who gathered great heaps-- +Having opportunity and skill-- +Until, behold, only chance blossoms +Remained for the feeble. +Then a little spindling tutor +Ran importantly to the father, crying: +"Pray, come hither! +"See this unjust thing in your garden!" +But when the father had surveyed, +He admonished the tutor: +"Not so, small sage! +"This thing is just. +"For, look you, +"Are not they who possess the flowers +"Stronger, bolder, shrewder +"Than they who have none? +"Why should the strong-- +"The beautiful strong-- +"Why should they not have the flowers? + +Upon reflection, the tutor bowed to the + ground. +"My lord," he said, +"The stars are displaced +"By this towering wisdom." + + + + +INTRIGUE + +Thou art my love, +And thou art the peace of sundown +When the blue shadows soothe, +And the grasses and the leaves sleep +To the song of the little brooks, +Woe is me. + +Thou art my love, +And thou art a strorm +That breaks black in the sky, +And, sweeping headlong, +Drenches and cowers each tree, +And at the panting end +There is no sound +Save the melancholy cry of a single owl-- +Woe is me! + +Thou are my love, +And thou art a tinsel thing, +And I in my play +Broke thee easily, +And from the little fragments +Arose my long sorrow-- +Woe is me. + +Thou art my love, +And thou art a wary violet, +Drooping from sun-caresses, +Answering mine carelessly-- +Woe is me. + +Thou art my love, +And thou art the ashes of other men's love, +And I bury my face in these ashes, +And I love them-- +Woe is me. + +Thou art my love, +And thou art the beard +On another man's face-- +Woe is me. + +Thou art my love, +And thou art a temple, +And in this temple is an altar, +And on this altar is my heart-- +Woe is me. + +Thou art my love, +And thou art a wretch. +Let these sacred love-lies choke thee, +From I am come to where I know your lies + as truth +And you truth as lies-- +Woe is me. + +Thou art my love, +And thou art a priestess, +And in they hand is a bloody dagger, +And my doom comes to me surely-- +Woe is me. + +Thou art my love, +And thou art a skull with ruby eyes, +And I love thee-- +Woe is me. + +Thou art my love, +And I doubt thee. +And if peace came with thy murder +Then would I murder-- +Woe is me. + +Thou art my love, +And thou art death, +Aye, thou art death +Black and yet black, +But I love thee, +I love thee-- +Woe, welcome woe, to me. + + + + +Love, forgive me if I wish you grief, +For in your grief +You huddle to my breast, +And for it +Would I pay the price of your grief. + +You walk among men +And all men do not surrender, +And thus I understand +That love reaches his hand +In mercy to me. + +He had your picture in his room, +A scurvy traitor picture, +And he smiled +--Merely a fat complacence of men who + know fine women-- +And thus I divided with him +A part of my love. + +Fool, not to know that thy little shoe +Can make men weep! +--Some men weep. +I weep and I gnash, +And I love the little shoe, +The little, little shoe. + +God give me medals, +God give me loud honors, +That I may strut before you, sweetheart, +And be worthy of-- +The love I bear you. + +Now let me crunch you +With full weight of affrighted love. +I doubted you +--I doubted you-- +And in this short doubting +My love grew like a genie +For my further undoing. + +Beware of my friends, +Be not in speech too civil, +For in all courtesy +My weak heart sees spectres, +Mists of desire +Arising from the lips of my chosen; +Be not civil. + +The flower I gave thee once +Was incident to a stride, +A detail of a gesture, +But search those pale petals +And see engraven thereon +A record of my intention. + + + + +Ah, God, the way your little finger moved, +As you thrust a bare arm backward +And made play with your hair +And a comb, a silly gilt comb +--Ah, God--that I should suffer +Because of the way a little finger moved. + + + + +Once I saw thee idly rocking +--Idly rocking-- +And chattering girlishly to other girls, +Bell-voiced, happy, +Careless with the stout heart of unscarred + womanhood, +And life to thee was all light melody. +I thought of the great storms of love as I + knew it, +Torn, miserable, and ashamed of my open + sorrow, +I thought of the thunders that lived in my + head, +And I wish to be an ogre, +And hale and haul my beloved to a castle, +And make her mourn with my mourning. + + + + +Tell me why, behind thee, +I see always the shadow of another lover? +Is it real, +Or is this the thrice damned memory of a + better happiness? +Plague on him if he be dead, +Plague on him if he be alive-- +A swinish numskull +To intrude his shade +Always between me and my peace! + + + + +And yet I have seen thee happy with me. +I am no fool +To poll stupidly into iron. +I have heard your quick breaths +And seen your arms writhe toward me; +At those times +--God help us-- +I was impelled to be a grand knight, +And swagger and snap my fingers, +And explain my mind finely. +Oh, lost sweetheart, +I would that I had not been a grand knight. +I said: "Sweetheart." +Thou said'st: "Sweetheart." +And we preserved an admirable mimicry +Without heeding the drip of the blood +From my heart. + + + + +I heard thee laugh, +And in this merriment +I defined the measure of my pain; +I knew that I was alone, +Alone with love, +Poor shivering love, +And he, little sprite, +Came to watch with me, +And at midnight, +We were like two creatures by a dead camp-fire. + + + + +I wonder if sometimes in the dusk, +When the brave lights that gild thy + evenings +Have not yet been touched with flame, +I wonder if sometimes in the dusk +Thou rememberest a time, +A time when thou loved me +And our love was to thee thy all? +Is the memory rubbish now? +An old gown +Worn in an age of other fashions? +Woe is me, oh, lost one, +For that love is now to me +A supernal dream, +White, white, white with many suns. + + + + +Love met me at noonday, +--Reckless imp, +To leave his shaded nights +And brave the glare,-- +And I saw him then plainly +For a bungler, +A stupid, simpering, eyeless bungler, +Breaking the hearts of brave people +As the snivelling idiot-boy cracks his bowl, +And I cursed him, +Cursed him to and fro, back and forth, +Into all the silly mazes of his mind, +But in the end +He laughed and pointed to my breast, +Where a heart still beat for thee, beloved. + + + + +I have seen thy face aflame +For love of me, +Thy fair arms go mad, +Thy lips tremble and mutter and rave. +And--surely-- +This should leave a man content? +Thou lovest not me now, +But thou didst love me, +And in loving me once +Thou gavest me an eternal privilege, +For I can think of thee. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of War is Kind, by Stephen Crane + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR IS KIND *** + +This file should be named scwar10.txt or scwar10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, scwar11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, scwar10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/old/scwar10.zip b/old/scwar10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..eb1c840 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/scwar10.zip diff --git a/old/scwar10h.htm b/old/scwar10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e3232b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/scwar10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1315 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>The Project Gutenberg E-text of "War is Kind" by Stephen Crane</title> +<meta HTTP-EQUIV="content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> +body {text-align: left; + font-size: 14pt} +</style> +</head> + + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of War is Kind, by Stephen Crane +#6 in our series by Stephen Crane + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: War is Kind + +Author: Stephen Crane + +Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9870] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 26, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR IS KIND *** + + + + + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h2>"War is Kind" by Stephen Crane </h2> +<img alt="War is Kind, by Stephen Crane" + src="title.jpg"/> +<p align="center"><font size=5> WAR IS KIND</font><br> +by Stephen Crane<br><br> +<br> +Drawings by Will Bradley +<br> +<br> +</p> +<br> +<img alt="(illustration--stylized corn)" align="bottom" src="p7corn.jpg"/> +<img alt="(illustration--maiden with sword, arrows, and doves)" align="top" src="p8maiden.jpg"/> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p> +Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.<br> +Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky<br> +And the affrighted steed ran on alone,<br> +Do not weep.<br> +War is kind.<br> +<br> + Hoarse, booming drums of the<br> +     regiment,<br> + Little souls who thirst for fight,<br> + These men were born to drill and die.<br> + The unexplained glory files above<br> +     them,<br> + Great is the battle-god, great, and his<br> +     kingdom—;<br> + A field where a thousand corpses lie.<br> +<br> +Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.<br> +Because your father tumbled in the yellow<br> +    trenches,<br> +Raged at his breast, gulped and died,<br> +Do not weep.<br> +War is kind.<br> +<br> + Swift blazing flag of the regiment,<br> + Eagle with crest of red and gold,<br> + These men were born to drill and die.<br> + Point for them the virtue of the slaughter,<br> + Make plain to them the excellence of killing<br> + And a field where a thousand corpses<br> +     lie.<br> +<br> +Mother whose heart hung humble as a button<br> +On the bright splendid shroud of your son,<br> +Do not weep.<br> +War is kind.<br> +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p> +What says the sea, little shell?<br> +“What says the sea?<br> +“Long has our brother been silent to us,<br> +“Kept his message for the ships,<br> +“Awkward ships, stupid ships.”<br> +<br> +“The sea bids you mourn, O Pines,<br> +“Sing low in the moonlight.<br> +“He sends tale of the land of doom,<br> +“Of place where endless falls<br> +“A rain of women's tears,<br> +“And men in grey robes—<br> +“Men in grey robes—<br> +“Chant the unknown pain.”</p> +<p> </p> +<img alt="(illustration--sea and wind)" align="bottom" src="seawind.jpg"> +<p> </p> +<img alt="(illustration--tall vase)" align="bottom" src="p14vase.jpg"> + +<p>“What says the sea, little shell?<br> +“What says the sea?<br> +“Long has our brother been silent to us,<br> +“Kept is message for the ships,<br> +“Puny ships, silly ships.”<br> +<br> +“The sea bids you teach, O Pines,<br> +“Sing low in the moonlight;<br> +“Teach the gold of patience,<br> +“Cry gospel of gentle hands,<br> +“Cry a brotherhood of hearts.<br> +“The sea bids you teach, O Pines.”<br> +<br> +“And where is the reward, little shell?<br> +“What says the sea?<br> +“Long has our brother been silent to us,<br> +“Kept his message for the ships,<br> +“Puny ships, silly ships.”<br></p> +<br> +<img alt="(illustration--birds)" align="bottom" src="p15birds.jpg"/> +<p>“No word says the sea, O Pines,<br> +“No word says the sea.<br> +“Long will your brother be silent to you,<br> +“Keep his message for the ships,<br> +“O puny ships, silly pines.”</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>To the maiden<br> +The sea was blue meadow,<br> +Alive with little froth-people<br> +Singing.<br> +<br> +To the sailor, wrecked,<br> +The sea was dead grey walls<br> +Superlative in vacancy,<br> +Upon which nevertheless at fateful time<br> +Was written<br> +The grim hatred of nature.<br></p> +<img alt="(illustration--lyre)" align="bottom" src="p19lyre.jpg"/> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>A little ink more or less!<br> +It surely can't matter?<br> +Even the sky and the opulent sea,<br> +The plains and the hills, aloof,<br> +Hear the uproar of all these books.<br> +But it is only a little ink more or less.<br> +<br> +What?<br> +You define me God with these trinkets?<br> +Can my misery meal on an ordered walking<br> +Of surpliced numskulls?<br> +And a fanfare of lights?<br> +Or even upon the measured pulpitings<br> +Of the familiar false and true?<br> +Is this God?<br> +Where, then is hell?<br> +Show me some bastard mushrooms<br> +Sprung from a pollution of blood.<br> +It is better.<br> +<br> +Where is God?</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>“Have you ever made a just man?”<br> +“Oh, I have made three,” answered<br> +    God,<br> +“But two of them are dead,<br> +“And the third—<br> +“Listen! Listen!<br> +“And you will hear the thud of his defeat.”</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>I explain the silvered passing of a ship<br> +    at night,<br> +The sweep of each sad lost wave,<br> +The dwindling boom of the steel thing's striving,<br> +The little cry of a man to a man,<br> +A shadow falling across the greyer night,<br> +And the sinking of the small star;<br> +<br> +Then the waste, the far waste of waters,<br> +And the soft lashing of black waves<br> +For long and in loneliness.<br> +<br> +Remember, thou, O ship of love,<br> +Thou leavest a far waste of waters,<br> +And the soft lashing of black waves<br> +For long and in loneliness.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>“I have heard the sunset song of the<br> +    birches,<br> +“A white melody in the silence,<br> +“I have seen a quarrel of the pines.<br> +“At nightfall<br> +“The little grasses have rushed by me<br> +“With the wind men.<br> +“These things have I lived,” quoth the<br> +    maniac,<br> +“Possessing only eyes and ears.<br> +“But you—<br> +“You don green spectacles before you look at roses.”</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>Fast rode the knight<br> +With spurs, hot and reeking,<br> +Ever waving an eager sword,<br> +“To save my lady!”<br> +Fast rode the knight,<br> +And leaped from saddle to war.<br> +Men of steel flickered and gleamed<br> +Like riot of silver lights,<br> +And the gold of the knight's good banner<br> +Still waved on a castle wall.<br> +<b>. . . . . . .</b><br> +A horse,<br> +Blowing, staggering, bloody thing,<br> +Forgotten at foot of castle wall.<br> +A horse<br> +Dead at foot of castle wall.</p> +<img alt="(illustration--dead horse at foot of castle wall)" align="bottom" src="deadhors.jpg"/> +<p> </p> +<img alt="(illustration--sylized leaf" align="bottom" src="p30leaf.jpg"/> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>Forth went the candid man<br> +And spoke freely to the wind—<br> +When he looked about him he was in a far<br> +    strange country.<br> +<br> +Forth went the candid man<br> +And spoke freely to the stars—<br> +Yellow light tore sight from his eye.<br> +<br> +“My good fool,” said a learned bystander,<br> +“Your operations are mad.”<br> +<br> +“You are too candid,” cried the candid man.<br> +And when his stick left the head of the<br> +    learned bystander<br> +It was two sticks.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>You tell me this is God?<br> +I tell you this is a printed list,<br> +A burning candle and an ass.</p> +<img alt="illustration--a candle" align="bottom" src="p35candl.jpg"/> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>On the desert<br> +A silence from the moon's deepest<br> +    valley.<br> +Fire rays fall athwart the robes<br> +Of hooded men, squat and dumb.<br> +Before them, a woman<br> +Moves to the blowing of shrill whistles<br> +And distant thunder of drums,<br> +While mystic things, sinuous, dull with<br> +    terrible color,<br> +Sleepily fondle her body<br> +Or move at her will, swishing stealthily over<br> +    the sand.<br> +The snakes whisper softly;<br> +The whispering, whispering snakes,<br> +Dreaming and swaying and staring,<br> +But always whispering, softly whispering.<br> +The wind streams from the lone reaches<br> +Of Arabia, solemn with night,<br> +And the wild fire makes shimmer of blood<br> +Over the robes of the hooded men<br> +Squat and dumb.</p> +<img alt="(illustration--a woman)" align="bottom" src="p37woman.jpg"/> +<p> </p> +<img alt="(illustration--stylized leaf)" align="bottom" src="p38leaf.jpg"/> +<br> +<p>Bands of moving bronze, emerald, yellow,<br> +Circle the throat and arms of her,<br> +And over the sands serpents move warily<br> +Slow, menacing and submissive,<br> +Swinging to the whistles and drums,<br> +The whispering, whispering snakes,<br> +Dreaming and swaying and staring,<br> +But always whispering, softly whispering.<br> +The dignity of the accursed;<br> +The glory of slavery, despair, death,<br> +Is in the dance of the whispering snakes.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices<br> +Which, bawled by boys from mile to mile,<br> +Spreads its curious opinion<br> +To a million merciful and sneering men,<br> +While families cuddle the joys of the fireside<br> +When spurred by tale of dire lone agony.<br> +A newspaper is a court<br> +Where every one is kindly and unfairly tried<br> +By a squalor of honest men.<br> +A newspaper is a market<br> +Where wisdom sells its freedom<br> +And melons are crowned by the crowd.<br> +A newspaper is a game<br> +Where his error scores the player victory<br> +While another's skill wins death.<br> +A newspaper is a symbol;<br> +It is fetless life's chronical,<br> +A collection of loud tales<br> +Concentrating eternal stupidities,<br> +That in remote ages lived unhaltered,<br> +Roaming through a fenceless world.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>The wayfarer,<br> +Perceiving the pathway to truth,<br> +Was struck with astonishment.<br> +It was thickly grown with weeds.<br> +“Ha,” he said,<br> +“I see that none has passed here<br> +“In a long time.”<br> +Later he saw that each weed<br> +Was a singular knife.<br> +“Well,” he mumbled at last,<br> +“Doubtless there are other roads.”</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>A slant of sun on dull brown walls,<br> +A forgotten sky of bashful blue.<br> +<br> +Toward God a mighty hymn,<br> +A song of collisions and cries,<br> +Rumbling wheels, hoof-beats, bells,<br> +Welcomes, farewells, love-calls, final moans,<br> +Voices of joy, idiocy, warning, despair,<br> +The unknown appeals of brutes,<br> +The chanting of flowers,<br> +The screams of cut trees,<br> +The senseless babble of hens and wise men—<br> +A cluttered incoherency that says at the<br> +    stars;<br> +“O God, save us!”</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>Once a man clambering to the housetops<br> +Appealed to the heavens.<br> +With a strong voice he called to the deaf<br> +  spheres;<br> +A warrior's shout he raised to the suns.<br> +Lo, at last, there was a dot on the clouds,<br> +And—at last and at last—<br> +—God—the sky was filled with armies.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>There was a man with tongue of wood<br> +Who essayed to sing,<br> +And in truth it was lamentable.<br> +But there was one who heard<br> +The clip-clapper of this tongue of wood<br> +And knew what the man<br> +Wished to sing,<br> +And with that the singer was content.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>The successful man has thrust himself<br> +Through the water of the years,<br> +Reeking wet with mistakes,—<br> +Bloody mistakes;<br> +Slimed with victories over the lesser,<br> +A figure thankful on the shore of money.<br> +Then, with the bones of fools<br> +He buys silken banners<br> +Limned with his triumphant face;<br> +With the skins of wise men<br> +He buys the trivial bows of all.<br> +Flesh painted with marrow<br> +Contributes a coverlet,<br> +A coverlet for his contented slumber.<br> +In guiltless ignorance, in ignorant guilt,<br> +He delivered his secrets to the riven multitude.<br> +  “Thus I defended: Thus I wrought.”<br> +Complacent, smiling,<br> +He stands heavily on the dead.<br> +Erect on a pillar of skulls<br> +He declaims his trampling of babes;<br> +Smirking, fat, dripping,<br> +He makes speech in guiltless ignorance,<br> +Innocence.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>In the night<br> +Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,<br> +And the peaks looked toward God alone.<br> +  “O Master that movest the wind with a<br> +  finger,<br> +  “Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.<br> +  “Grant that we may run swiftly across<br> +  the world<br> +  “To huddle in worship at Thy feet.”<br> +<br> +In the morning<br> +A noise of men at work came the clear blue miles,<br> +And the little black cities were apparent.<br> +  “O Master that knowest the meaning of raindrops,<br> +  “Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.<br> +  “Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord,<br> +  “That we may sing Thy goodness to the sun.”<br> +<br> +In the evening<br> +The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights.<br> +  “O Master,<br> +  “Thou that knowest the value of kings and birds,<br> +  “Thou hast made us humble, idle, futile peaks.<br> +  “Thous only needest eternal patience;<br> +  “We bow to Thy wisdom, O Lord—<br> +  “Humble, idle, futile peaks.”<br> +<br> +In the night<br> +Grey heavy clouds muffles the valleys,<br> +And the peaks looked toward God alone.</p> +<p> </p> +<img alt="(illustration--candles)" align="bottom" src="p49candl.jpg"/> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top.<br> +<br> +Blood—blood and torn grass—<br> +Had marked the rise of his agony—<br> +This lone hunter.<br> +The grey-green woods impassive<br> +Had watched the threshing of his limbs.<br> +<br> +A canoe with flashing paddle,<br> +A girl with soft searching eyes,<br> +A call: “John!”<br> +<b>. . . . . . .</b><br> +Come, arise, hunter!<br> +Can you not hear?<br> +<br> +The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top.<br></p> +<p> </p> +<img alt="(illustration--burning sticks)" align="bottom" src="matches.jpg"/> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>The impact of a dollar upon the heart<br> +Smiles warm red light,<br> +Sweeping from the hearth rosily upon the<br> +    white table,<br> +With the hanging cool velvet shadows<br> +Moving softly upon the door.<br> +<br> +The impact of a million dollars<br> +Is a crash of flunkys,<br> +And yawning emblems of Persia<br> +Cheeked against oak, France and a sabre,<br> +The outcry of old beauty<br> +Whored by pimping merchants<br> +To submission before wine and chatter.<br> +Silly rich peasants stamp the carpets of men,<br> +Dead men who dreamed fragrance and light<br> +Into their woof, their lives;<br> +The rug of an honest bear<br> +Under the feet of a cryptic slave<br> +Who speaks always of baubles,<br> +Forgetting state, multitude, work, and state,<br> +Champing and mouthing of hats,<br> +Making ratful squeak of hats,<br> +Hats.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>A man said to the universe:<br> + “Sir, I exist!”<br> +“However,” replied the universe,<br> +“The fact has not created in me<br> +“A sense of obligation.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>When the prophet, a complacent fat<br> +    man,<br> +Arrived at the mountain-top,<br> +He cried: “Woe to my knowledge!<br> +“I intended to see good white lands<br> +“And bad black lands,<br> +“But the scene is grey.”</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>There was a land where lived no<br> +    violets.<br> +A traveller at once demanded: “Why?”<br> +The people told him:<br> +“Once the violets of this place spoke thus:<br> +“’Until some woman freely give her lover<br> +“’To another woman<br> +“’We will fight in bloody scuffle.’”<br> +Sadly the people added:<br> +“There are no violets here.”</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>There was one I met upon the road<br> +Who looked at me with kind eyes.<br> +He said: “Show me of your wares.”<br> +And I did,<br> +Holding forth one,<br> +He said: “It is a sin.”<br> +Then I held forth another.<br> +He said: “It is a sin.”<br> +Then I held forth another.<br> +He said: “It is a sin.”<br> +And so to the end.<br> +Always He said: “It is a sin.”<br> +At last, I cried out:<br> +“But I have non other.”<br> +He looked at me<br> +With kinder eyes.<br> +“Poor soul,” he said.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>Aye, workman, make me a dream,<br> +A dream for my love.<br> +Cunningly weave sunlight,<br> +Breezes, and flowers.<br> +Let it be of the cloth of meadows.<br> +And—good workman—<br> +And let there be a man walking thereon.</p> +<img alt="(illustration--man walking)" align="bottom" src="manwalk.jpg"/> +<p> </p> +<img alt="(illustration--stylized leaf)" align="bottom" src="p62leaf.jpg"/> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>Each small gleam was a voice,<br> +A lantern voice—<br> +In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.<br> +A chorus of colors came over the water;<br> +The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer wavered,<br> +No pines crooned on the hills,<br> +The blue night was elsewhere a silence,<br> +When the chorus of colors came over the<br> +    water,<br> +Little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.<br> +<br> +Small glowing pebbles<br> +Thrown on the dark plane of evening<br> +Sing good ballads of God<br> +And eternity, with soul's rest.<br> +Little priests, little holy fathers,<br> +None can doubt the truth of hour hymning.<br> +When the marvellous chorus comes over the<br> +    water,<br> +Songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>The trees in the garden rained flowers.<br> +Children ran there joyously.<br> +They gathered the flowers<br> +Each to himself.<br> +Now there were some<br> +Who gathered great heaps—<br> +Having opportunity and skill—<br> +Until, behold, only chance blossoms<br> +Remained for the feeble.<br> +Then a little spindling tutor<br> +Ran importantly to the father, crying:<br> +“Pray, come hither!<br> +“See this unjust thing in your garden!”<br> +But when the father had surveyed,<br> +He admonished the tutor:<br> +“Not so, small sage!<br> +“This thing is just.<br> +“For, look you,<br> +“Are not they who possess the flowers<br> +“Stronger, bolder, shrewder<br> +“Than they who have none?<br> +“Why should the strong—<br> +“The beautiful strong—<br> +“Why should they not have the flowers?<br> +<br> +Upon reflection, the tutor bowed to the<br> +    ground.<br> +“My lord,” he said,<br> +“The stars are displaced<br> +“By this towering wisdom.”</p> +<img alt="illustration--vase of flowers" align="bottom" src="p66vase.jpg"/> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +INTRIGUE<br> +<br> +<p>Thou art my love,<br> +And thou art the peace of sundown<br> +When the blue shadows soothe,<br> +And the grasses and the leaves sleep<br> +To the song of the little brooks,<br> +Woe is me.<br> +<br> +Thou art my love,<br> +And thou art a strorm<br> +That breaks black in the sky,<br> +And, sweeping headlong,<br> +Drenches and cowers each tree,<br> +And at the panting end<br> +There is no sound<br> +Save the melancholy cry of a single owl—<br> +Woe is me!<br> +<br> +Thou are my love,<br> +And thou art a tinsel thing,<br> +And I in my play<br> +Broke thee easily,<br> +And from the little fragments<br> +Arose my long sorrow—<br> +Woe is me.<br> +<br> +Thou art my love,<br> +And thou art a wary violet,<br> +Drooping from sun-caresses,<br> +Answering mine carelessly—<br> +Woe is me.</p> +<img alt="(illustration--stylized flower)" align="bottom" src="p70flwer.jpg"/> +<br> +<p>Thou art my love,<br> +And thou art the ashes of other men's love,<br> +And I bury my face in these ashes,<br> +And I love them—<br> +Woe is me.<br> +<br> +Thou art my love,<br> +And thou art the beard<br> +On another man's face—<br> +Woe is me.<br> +<br> +Thou art my love,<br> +And thou art a temple,<br> +And in this temple is an altar,<br> +And on this altar is my heart—<br> +Woe is me.<br> +<br> +Thou art my love,<br> +And thou art a wretch.<br> +Let these sacred love-lies choke thee,<br> +From I am come to where I know your lies<br> +    as truth<br> +And you truth as lies—<br> +Woe is me.</p> +<br> +<img alt="(illustration--cruel woman)" align="bottom" src="cruelwmn.jpg"> +<p> </p> +<img alt="(illustration--column)" align="top" src="column.jpg"> +<br> +<p>Thou art my love,<br> +And thou art a priestess,<br> +And in they hand is a bloody dagger,<br> +And my doom comes to me surely—<br> +Woe is me.<br> +<br> +Thou art my love,<br> +And thou art a skull with ruby eyes,<br> +And I love thee—<br> +Woe is me.<br> +<br> +Thou art my love,<br> +And I doubt thee.<br> +And if peace came with thy murder<br> +Then would I murder—<br> +Woe is me.</p> +<img alt="illustration--happy and sad masks" align="bottom" src="masks.jpg"/> +<br> +<p>Thou art my love,<br> +And thou art death,<br> +Aye, thou art death<br> +Black and yet black,<br> +But I love thee,<br> +I love thee—<br> +Woe, welcome woe, to me.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>Love, forgive me if I wish you grief,<br> +For in your grief<br> +You huddle to my breast,<br> +And for it<br> +Would I pay the price of your grief.<br> +<br> +You walk among men<br> +And all men do not surrender,<br> +And thus I understand<br> +That love reaches his hand<br> +In mercy to me.<br> +<br> +He had your picture in his room,<br> +A scurvy traitor picture,<br> +And he smiled<br> +—Merely a fat complacence of men who<br> +    know fine women—<br> +And thus I divided with him<br> +A part of my love.<br> +<br> +Fool, not to know that thy little shoe<br> +Can make men weep!<br> +—Some men weep.<br> +I weep and I gnash,<br> +And I love the little shoe,<br> +The little, little shoe.<br> +<br> +God give me medals,<br> +God give me loud honors,<br> +That I may strut before you, sweetheart,<br> +And be worthy of—<br> +The love I bear you.</p> +<img alt="(illustration--sword" align="bottom" src="sword.jpg"/> +<br> +<p>Now let me crunch you<br> +With full weight of affrighted love.<br> +I doubted you<br> +—I doubted you—<br> +And in this short doubting<br> +My love grew like a genie<br> +For my further undoing.<br> +<br> +Beware of my friends,<br> +Be not in speech too civil,<br> +For in all courtesy<br> +My weak heart sees spectres,<br> +Mists of desire<br> +Arising from the lips of my chosen;<br> +Be not civil.<br> +<br> +The flower I gave thee once<br> +Was incident to a stride,<br> +A detail of a gesture,<br> +But search those pale petals<br> +And see engraven thereon<br> +A record of my intention.</p> +<img alt="(illustration--vase of flowers)" align="bottom" src="p88vase.jpg"/> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>Ah, God, the way your little finger moved,<br> +As you thrust a bare arm backward<br> +And made play with your hair<br> +And a comb, a silly gilt comb<br> +—Ah, God—that I should suffer<br> +Because of the way a little finger moved.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>Once I saw thee idly rocking<br> +—Idly rocking—<br> +And chattering girlishly to other girls,<br> +Bell-voiced, happy,<br> +Careless with the stout heart of unscarred<br> +    womanhood,<br> +And life to thee was all light melody.<br> +I thought of the great storms of love as I<br> +    knew it,<br> +Torn, miserable, and ashamed of my open<br> +    sorrow,<br> +I thought of the thunders that lived in my<br> +    head,<br> +And I wish to be an ogre,<br> +And hale and haul my beloved to a castle,<br> +And make her mourn with my mourning.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>Tell me why, behind thee,<br> +I see always the shadow of another lover?<br> +Is it real,<br> +Or is this the thrice damned memory of a<br> +    better happiness?<br> +Plague on him if he be dead,<br> +Plague on him if he be alive—<br> +A swinish numskull<br> +To intrude his shade<br> +Always between me and my peace!</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>And yet I have seen thee happy with me.<br> +I am no fool<br> +To poll stupidly into iron.<br> +I have heard your quick breaths<br> +And seen your arms writhe toward me;<br> +At those times<br> +—God help us—<br> +I was impelled to be a grand knight,<br> +And swagger and snap my fingers,<br> +And explain my mind finely.<br> +Oh, lost sweetheart,<br> +I would that I had not been a grand knight.<br> +I said: “Sweetheart.”<br> +Thou said'st: “Sweetheart.”<br> +And we preserved an admirable mimicry<br> +Without heeding the drip of the blood<br> +From my heart.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>I heard thee laugh,<br> +And in this merriment<br> +I defined the measure of my pain;<br> +I knew that I was alone,<br> +Alone with love,<br> +Poor shivering love,<br> +And he, little sprite,<br> +Came to watch with me,<br> +And at midnight,<br> +We were like two creatures by a dead camp-<br> +    fire.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>I wonder if sometimes in the dusk,<br> +When the brave lights that gild thy<br> +    evenings<br> +Have not yet been touched with flame,<br> +I wonder if sometimes in the dusk<br> +Thou rememberest a time,<br> +A time when thou loved me<br> +And our love was to thee thy all?<br> +Is the memory rubbish now?<br> +An old gown<br> +Worn in an age of other fashions?<br> +Woe is me, oh, lost one,<br> +For that love is now to me<br> +A supernal dream,<br> +White, white, white with many suns.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>Love met me at noonday,<br> +—Reckless imp,<br> +To leave his shaded nights<br> +And brave the glare,—<br> +And I saw him then plainly<br> +For a bungler,<br> +A stupid, simpering, eyeless bungler,<br> +Breaking the hearts of brave people<br> +As the snivelling idiot-boy cracks his bowl,<br> +And I cursed him,<br> +Cursed him to and fro, back and forth,<br> +Into all the silly mazes of his mind,<br> +But in the end<br> +He laughed and pointed to my breast,<br> +Where a heart still beat for thee, beloved.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>I have seen thy face aflame<br> +For love of me,<br> +Thy fair arms go mad,<br> +Thy lips tremble and mutter and rave.<br> +And—surely—<br> +This should leave a man content?<br> +Thou lovest not me now,<br> +But thou didst love me,<br> +And in loving me once<br> +Thou gavest me an eternal privilege,<br> +For I can think of thee.</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of War is Kind, by Stephen Crane + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR IS KIND *** + +This file should be named scwar10h.htm or scwar10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, scwar11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, scwar10ah.htm + + + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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