Peace

I grant you: peace is desirable. War being, in a figure, its antithesis is wholly detestable to the lover of peace.

But there are lovers and lovers.

It is stupid to advocate peace in order to have me work in a factory or a field or a mine or a quarry or a forest or on the sea or at a desk or on the ice or at the sea's bottom — unless I please to do these things.

To substitute for me a lesser war for another greater is the hollowest mockery — to substitute war with fire by war with mud is vilest deception. Either I must have war or none.

Peace is noble only when it sends me out a tramp — my peace made with the world — a lily of the field if you will.

But who is there that advocates peace? I have seen no true apostles. I have read of few. And it is notable that these do not form societies — Tolstoi to the contrary.

Peace requires genius to be preached. It is a rare high thing — it is not subsidized — it also has its courage.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.