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0 Lord our God, help tus tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the paler forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unbefriended the wastes of their desolate land in rags and hunger and thirst .
My thief my counsellor tell me how it was then under the bridge in the long cashmere scarf the opera-lover left silken length rough flesh violet light meandering the splash that trickled down the wall O tell me what you hissed to him and how he groaned to you tell me the opera-lover's body limb by limb and touch by touch how his long arms arched dazzling under the abutment as he played himself to the hilt cloak flocked with light My thief my counsellor tell me was it good or had, was it good and had, in the unbefriended archway of your first ardor?