Item 02: Letters sent by Robert Wilson to his family, 1905-1915 - Page 171
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[Page 171]
The Day
You boasted the Day, and you toasted the Day,
and now the Day has come.
Blasphemer, braggart and coward all,
Little you wreck the numbing ball,
The blasting shell , or the "white arm's" fall,
As they speed poor humans home.
You spied for the Day, you lied for the Day,
And woke the Day's red spleen.
Monster, who asked God's aid Devine
Then strewed His seas with the ghastly mine;
Not all the waters of the Rhine
can wash your foul hands clean.
You dreamed of the Day, you schemed for the Day,;
Watch how the Day will go!
Slayer of age and youth and prime
(Defenceless slain for never a crime)
You are steeped on blood as a hog in slime,
False friend and cowardly foe.
You have sown for the Day, you have grown for the Day;
Yours is the harvest red.
Can you hear the groans and the awful cries?
Can to see the heap of slain that lies,
And the sightless turned to the flame-split skies
The glassy eyes of the dead?