Page:Poems by Frances Fuller Victor.djvu/69

 Between the poets, artists, critios, all,

Who form a faction, or who found a school,

We weave Penelope s web with hearts of gall,

And my poor brain is oft the weary tool.

Yet do I choose this life. What is to me

Peace or good fame, away from all of these,

But living death? I do choose liberty,

And leave to Athens dames their soulless ease.

The time shall come, when Athens is no more,

And you and all your gods have passed away,

That other men, upon another shore,

Shall from your errors learn a better way.

To them eternal justice will reveal

Eternal truth, and in its better light

All that your legal falsehoods now conceal

Will stand forth clearly in the whole world's sight.

ON SAN FRANCISCO BAY.

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