"O England, may God punish thee!" - Is it that Teuton genius flowers Only to breathe malignity Upon its friend of earlier hours? - We have eaten your bread, you have eaten ours, We have loved your burgs, your pines' green moan, Fair Rhine-stream, and its storied towers; Your shining souls of d**hless dowers Have won us as they were our own: We have nursed no dreams to shed your blood, We have matched your might not rancorously, Save a flushed few whose blatant mood You heard and marked as well as we To tongue not in their country's key; But yet you cry with face aflame, "O England, may God punish thee!" And foul in onward history, And present sight, your ancient name. Autumn 1914.