To cure the wide world, stricken sore,
Bleeding at the breast and head,
Tearing at its wounds once more.
Your white hand is a prophecy,
A living hope that Christ shall come
And make the nations merciful,
Hating the bayonet and drum.
Each desperate burning brain you soothe,
Or ghastly broken frame you bind,
Brings one day nearer our bright goal,
The love-alliance of mankind.
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SECTION ONE
Give the engines room.’Louder, fasterThe little band-masterWhips up the fluting,Hurries up the tooting.He thinks that he stands,[*] The reins in his hands,In the fire-chief’s placeIn the night alarm chase.The cymbals whang,The kettledrums bang: —‘Clear the street,Clear the street,Clear the street — Boom, boom.In the evening gloom,In the evening gloom,Give the engines room,Give the engines room.Lest…
(Being a Chant of the American Soap-Box and the Russian Revolution.)
Is glory in your slack disgrace?Plump quack doctors sell their pills,Gentle grafters sell brass watches,Silly anarchists yell their ills.Shall we be as weird as these?In the breezes nod and wheeze?Heaven’s mass is sung,Tomorrow’s mass is sungIn a spirit tongueBy wind and dust and birds,The high mass of liberty,While wave the banners red:Sung round the soap-box,A…
I. SPEAK NOW FOR PEACE
Stand now for peace, (though anger breaks your heart),Though naught but smoke and flame and drowning is seen.Lady of Light, speak, though you speak alone,Though your voice may seem as a dove’s in this howling flood,It is heard to-night by every senate and throne.Though the widening battle of millions and millions of menThreatens to-night to…
Ah, she was music in herself,
She sang, she sang from finger tips,From every tremble of her dress.I saw sweet haunting harmony,An ecstasy, an ecstasy,In that strange curling of her lips,That happy curling of her lips.And quivering with melodyThose eyes I saw, that tossing head.And so I saw what music was,Tho’ still accursed with ears of lead.
Kiss me and comfort my heart
I am the pilgrim boyLame, but hunting the shrine;Fleeing away from the sweets,Seeking the dust and rain,Sworn to the staff and road,Scorning pleasure and pain;Nevertheless my mouthWould rest like a bird an hourAnd find in your curls a nestAnd find in your breast a bower:Nevertheless my eyesWould lose themselves in your own,Rivers that seek the…
‘Tell me, where do ghosts in love
‘If you and I were ghosts in loveWe’d climb the cliffs of Mystery,Above the sea of Wails.I’d trim your gray and streaming hairWith veils of FantasyFrom the tree of Memory.‘Tis there the ghosts that fall in loveFind their bridal veils.’