Listen to our bombs singing now
Their dark purple love is hailed by the dying

The drenched springtime the nightlamp the attack

Its raining my soul its raining, but it rains dead eyes

—Guillaume Apollinaire (1880–1918), 1915 April Night, from The Self-Dismembered Man: Selected Later Poems of Guillaume Apollinaire, translated by Donald Revell, 2004.