The Festival Of The Aisne
Imperial Madness, will of hand, Builds vast an altar here, and rears Before the world, on godly land, A Moloch form of blood and tears. And far as eye can see, behold, Priests plunge into its brazen arms Men, that its iron maw of mold Mangles, returning horrible forms. Its Priests are armies, moving slow, And crowned like kings, in human-guise: And theirs it is to make it flow The crimson stream of sacrifice.
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"Imperial Madness, will of hand,..."
Exploring the themes of classic, Madison Julius Cawein delivers a powerful performance in "The Festival Of The Aisne"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...