Release

A leaping wind from England, The skies without a stain, Clean cut against the morning Slim poplars after rain, The foolish noise of sparrows And starlings in a wood - After the grime of battle We know that these are good. Death whining down from heaven, Death roaring from the ground, Death stinking in the nostril, Death shrill in every sound, Doubting we charged and conquered - Hopeless we struck and stood; Now when the fight is ended We know that it was good. We that have seen the strongest Cry like a beaten child, The sanest eyes unholy, The cleanest hands defiled, We that have known the heart-blood Less than the lees of wine, We that have seen men broken, We know that man is divine.