Note 13 — VI YOUNG GERMANY (continued 9)

With bullets through and through our breast—our forehead split with spike and spear, So bear us onward shoulder-high, laid dead upon a blood-stained bier; Yea, shoulder-high above the crowd, that on the man that bade us die, Our dreadful death-distorted face may be a bitter curse for aye; That he may see it day and night, or when he wakes or when he sleeps, Or when he opes his holy book, or when with wine high revel keeps; That ever like a scorching brand that sight his secret soul may burn; That he may ne'er escape its curse, nor know to whom for aid to turn; That always each disfeatured face, each gaping wound his sight may sear, And brood above his bed of death, and curdle all his blood with fear!