Hate thou not any man, for at the worst,

He still is brother. Will a glance not find

Whole peoples alchemied from heart and mind

To steal projectiles by a craft, accursed

By Human Nature? Aye, for, as they burst

At dusk, or midnight, slamming Heaven behind

And crashing Hell wide open, 'tis mankind

Is shattered and quick-gulping grave slake thirst.

Hate thou no man, but scorn all crafts, that smelt

The heart and mind for huge projectiles, shattered

When bursting grandly that some pride be flattered.

Nature beholds not Saxon, Slav, nor Celt;

She only sees the Human fragments scattered,

And, covering them, her eyes to rivers melt.