1.

I SING the song of the great clean guns that belch forth death at will.Ah, but the wailing mothers, the lifeless forms and stillI sing the songs of the billowing flags, the bugles that cry before.Ah, but the skeletons flapping rags, the lips that speak no more!I sing the clash of bayonets and sabres that flash and cleave.And wilt thou sing the maimed ones, too, that go with pinned-up sleevI sing acclaimed generals that bring the victory home.Ah, but the broken bodies that drip like honey-comb!I sing of hearts triumphant, long ranks of marching men.And wilt thou sing the shadowy hosts that never march asarefully and think of a suitable title to this poem. (1)Nders Lite​

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Answer:

A Song Of......

If it were me then I WOULD have CHOSEN this TITLE.

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