With evening, and autumn's leaves, came War,
Trampling down the aisles of my gentle love.
Leave now my side, Woman, for you no longer are
To answer to my trembling touch or warm my hands.
Fools have stripped you of more than raiment,
Taken more than body, and I will not have you empty.
Leave now my side, Woman, for in restful death
I shall not need you, untroubled by man's idiot child, War.
Lie still now my Pen, my Tongue, for from this block
You shall only rise to run and spurt and fall again.
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