Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep.
War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment, Little souls who thirst for fight, These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them, Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom -A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.

Autor: Stephen Crane