Over the barbed and shooting sea assumed an army
And swept into our wounds and houses,
I climb to greet the war in which I have no heart but only
That one dark I owe my light,
Call for confessor and wiser mirror but there is none
To glow after the god stoning night
And I am struck as lonely as a holy marker by the sun
No
Praise that the spring time is all
Gabriel and radiant shrubbery as the morning grows joyful
Out of the woebegone pyre
And the multitude's sultry tear turns cool on the weeping wall,
My arising prodgidal
Sun the father his quiver full of the infants of pure fire,
But blessed be hail and upheaval
That uncalm still it is sure alone to stand and sing
Alone in the husk of man's home
Punning on the biblical –  Prodigal Son  a parable about a young man who squanders his inheritance only to be forgiven by his father. 
 War affected his son, who has a “quiver full of the infants of pure fire.”  Maybe his son is motivated to kill because of the war. Driven by the passion of youth and a cause to stand for. 

Holy Spring