A Rattlesnake Sings in the Grass

Oh, brother coiling in the acrid grass, Lift not for me your sibilant refrain: Less deadly venom slavers from your fangs Than courses fiercely in my every vein.

A single victim satisfied your hate, But I would see walled cities crash and reel, Gray-bearded sages blown from cannon-mouths, And infants spitted on the reddened steel.

And I would see the stars come thundering down, The foaming oceans break their brimming bowl – Oh, universal ruin would not serve To glut the fury of my maddened soul!