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"Pan-Mongolism— though the word is strange, My ear acclaims its gongs." —

You are the millions, we are multitude And multitude and multitude. Come, fight! Yea, we are Scythians, Yea, Asians, a squint-eyed, greedy brood.

For you: the centuries; for us: one hour. Like slaves, obeying and abhorred, We were the shield between the breeds Of Europe and the raging Mongol horde.

For centuries your ancient hammers forged And drowned the thunder of far hates. You heard like wild fantastic tales Old Lisbon's and Messina's sudden fates.

Yea, so to love as our hot blood can love Long since you ceased to love; the taste You have forgotten, of a love That burns like fire and like the fire lays waste.

All things we love: clear numbers' burning chill, The ecstasies that secret bloom. All things we know: the Gallic light And the parturient Germanic gloom.