Plain Be The Phrase, Yet Apt The Verse, More Ponderous Than Nimble; For Since Grimed War Here Laid Aside His Orient Pomp, 'Twould Ill Befit Overmuch To Ply The Rhyme'S Barbaric Cymbal. Hail To Victory Without The Gaud Of Glory; Zeal That Needs No Fans Of Banners; Plain Mechanic Power Plied Cogently In War Now Placed-- Where War Belongs-- Among The Trades And Artisans. Yet This Was Battle, And Intense-- Beyond The Strife Of Fleets Heroic; Deadlier, Closer, Calm 'Mid Storm; No Passion; All Went On By Crank, Pivot, And Screw, And Calculations Of Caloric. Needless To Dwell; The Story'S Known. The Ringing Of Those Plates On Plates Still Ringeth Round The World-- The Clangor Of That Blacksmiths' Fray. The Anvil-Din Resounds This Message From The Fates: War Shall Yet Be, And To The End; But War-Paint Shows The Streaks Of Weather; War Yet Shall Be, But Warriors Are Now But Operatives; War'S Made Less Grand Than Peace, And A Singe Runs Through Lace And Feather.