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作词 : Stephen Crane |
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Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind, |
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Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky |
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And the affrighted steed ran on alone, |
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Do not weep. |
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War is kind. |
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Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment, |
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Little souls who thirst for fight, |
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These men were born to drill and die. |
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The unexplained glory flies above them. |
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Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom-- |
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A field where a thousand corpses lie. |
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Do not weep, babe, for war is kind. |
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Because your father tumbles in the yellow trenches, |
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Raged at his breast, gulped and died, |
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Do not weep. |
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War is kind. |
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Swift blazing flag of the regiment, |
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Eagle with crest of red and gold, |
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These men were born to drill and die. |
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Point for them the virtue of slaughter, |
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Make plain to them the excellence of killing |
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And a field where a thousand corpses lie. |
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Mother whose heart hung humble as a button |
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On the bright splendid shroud of your son, |
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Do not weep. |
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War is kind! |
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