O England, May God Punish Thee! - Is It That Teuton Genius Flowers Only To Breathe Malignity Upon Its Friend Of Earlier Hours? - We Have Eaten Your Bread, You Have Eaten Ours, We Have Loved Your Burgs, Your Pines' Green Moan, Fair Rhine-Stream, And Its Storied Towers; Your Shining Souls Of Deathless Dowers Have Won Us As They Were Our Own: We Have Nursed No Dreams To Shed Your Blood, We Have Matched Your Might Not Rancorously, Save A Flushed Few Whose Blatant Mood You Heard And Marked As Well As We To Tongue Not In Their Country'S Key; But Yet You Cry With Face Aflame, "O England, May God Punish Thee!" And Foul In Onward History, And Present Sight, Your Ancient Name. Autumn 1914.