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  • Artist Info: The Destruction of Sennacherib<br />
    <br />
    The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,<br />
    And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;<br />
    And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,<br />
    When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.<br />
    <br />
    Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,<br />
    That host with their banners at sunset were seen:<br />
    Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,<br />
    That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.<br />
    <br />
    For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,<br />
    And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed:<br />
    And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,<br />
    And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!<br />
    <br />
    And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,<br />
    But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:<br />
    And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,<br />
    And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.<br />
    <br />
    And there lay the rider distorted and pale,<br />
    With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;<br />
    And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,<br />
    The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.<br />
    <br />
    And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,<br />
    And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;<br />
    And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,<br />
    Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!<br />
    -Lord Byron
    <br />
    <br />
    There will Come Soft Rains <br />
    <br />
    There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,<br />
    And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;<br />
    <br />
    And frogs in the pool singing at night,<br />
    And wild plum trees in tremulous white;<br />
    <br />
    Robins will wear their feathery fire,<br />
    Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;<br />
    <br />
    And not one will know of the war, not one<br />
    Will care at last when it is done.<br />
    <br />
    Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,<br />
    If mankind perished utterly;<br />
    <br />
    And Spring herself when she woke at dawn<br />
    Would scarcely know that we were gone.<br />
    -Sara Teasdale
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