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A SONG OF VICTORY
225
And cannons worn out with their work of hell—
The brief abrupt persuasion of the shell—
Let the shrewd spider lock them, one by one,
With filmy cables glancing in the sun;
And let the bluebird in their iron throats
Build his safe nest and spill his rippling notes.
Let there be no more battles, men of earth:
The new age rises singing into birth!
