They were going to look at war, the red animal — war, the blood-swollen god. And they were deeply engrossed in this march. - Stephen Crane

They were going to look at war, the red
animal — war, the blood-swollen god.

I saw a man pursuing the horizon; Round and round they sped. I was disturbed at this; I accosted the man. "It is futile," I said, "You can never—" "You lie," he cried, And ran on.

He had fought like a pagan who defends his religion.

The ranks opened covertly to avoid the corpse. The invulnerable dead man forced a way for himself. The youth looked keenly at the ashen face. The wind raised the tawny beard. It moved as if a hand were stroking it. He vaguely desired to walk around and around the body and stare; the impulse of the living to try to read in dead eyes the answer to the Question.