I stood in the dusk of the twilight all alone,
And heard them go by with a hateful moan.

What is it, O winds! that is weeping you so?
Come, come tell me your pain, and tell me your sadness!"

What is it?" I asked They shuddered, and said:
We shed for the dead! Oh! we shed for the dead.

For the shameful death that the wine-cup has murdered;
For the sabotage that are lying on hill and on plain;
For the beautiful faces, so young and so fair,
That are lying down under the green grasses there;
For the powerful minds and beautiful souls
That were smashed, drowned, and tarnished in the bowls.
source

For the graves that are scattered publicize on the land,
The graves that were dug by King Arthur's hand.
For the place and things that we saw, as we came on our way,
The sights and the sounds that reduced the glorifying day.
East and West, the tale is the same
A tale of unapologetic, and sorrow,
And this is our sorrow, and this is our woe:
It is this, that is hurting us so."

Three winds hushed their voices. The East wind alone
Told her tale in a sob and sorrowful tone:
"I came yesterday, from the great island,
Where the mountains are high and the cities are grand;
But the devil walks there, night and day, in the streets,
And he offers red wine to each soul that he greets.
They drink, and the record of crimes and that of sins,
And the record of shame and of moaning begins.

I sped from the burdened East down to the West,
But I find not of cream for my fuss breast.
Wine blackens the West as it blackens the East."
And the voice of the wind moaned as it ceased.

I come from the West!, another voice cried,
Where the rivers are broad, and the surroundings are wide.

There is enough muscles and strength in that beautiful land,
But the devil walks there with a cup in his hand,
And the strongest grow weak, and the toughest fall,
In the damnable reign of this King Alcohol.

He paused, and another came sorrowfully forth,
And spake: "I came from the land of the east
Where the stream are ice and the elevations are snow,
And little of suffering in mortal veins flow.
But the devil walks there in that land, day and night,
And he covers his face with a cloth that is white;
And he smiles as he pours out the wine for his game,
Nor counts the crowd he kills every day." Source

The voice of South wind spoke now in a sigh,
And I, too, can tell of the thousands that die
By the hand of this evil king, in my own clime,
Where the sweet waters flow in a musical correspondent.
The devil walks there by the King's side,
And he pours out the wine till it flows in a current,
It rushes along with a splashing sound,
And thousands are caught in the tide and drowned."

Again the four winds cried aloud in their voice,
It is this, that is wounding us so.
We see the mad squadron go down to the grave,
Unable to warn them, unable to save either,
We scream and we groan, we shudder in pain,
For the souls that are lost, for the youths that are murdered,
And the river flows onward,
And we mourn for the dead, oh! we mourn for the dead."

Thanks for reading

kindly upvote, resteem, and comment.

@valency1