Wilfred Owen - Arms and the Boy lyrics

Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood; Blue with all malice, like a madman's flash; And thinly drawn with famishing for flesh. Lend him to stroke these blind, blunt bullet-leads Which long to nuzzle in the hearts of lads, Or give him cartridges of fine zinc teeth, Sharp with the sharpness of grief and d**h. For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple. There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple; And God will grow no talons at his heels, Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls.