Neither from the woe,
Nor from the war,
Think ye to escape …
It helps nothing that ye shut your eyes, oh, cloistered cowards and gilded idlers!
For neither shall cushion nor buffet ease the sharp shock of life,
Neither shall delicate music in hushed hotels drown out the roar of the battling streets …
Neither shall wingèd wheels carry you away to the place of peace …
How can ye go from yourselves, deluded ones?

Make but a world of rest:
Swifter than striking lightning
The Aladdin of the soul builds in the heart
A world of unresting hell …
And, oh ye shunners of war, ye are gruelled in a war of the spirit,
In a battle of nerves and blood-vessels and the ghost-haunted brain,
And the death of delight …

Hence, whip ye to battle:
Live ye to the uttermost:
Abide the adventure.