Here you will find the Poem Grotesque of poet Frederic Manning
These are the damned circles Dante trod, Terrible in hopelessness, But even skulls have their humour, An eyeless and sardonic mockery: And we, Sitting with streaming eyes in the acrid smoke, That murks our foul, damp billet, Chant bitterly, with raucous voices As a choir of frogs In hideous irony, our patriotic songs.
