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Rh We have walked with the Ages dead—

With our Past alive and ablaze.

And you bid us pawn our honour for bread,

This day of all the days!

And you cannot wait till our guests are sped,

Or last week's wreath decays?

The light is still in our eyes

Of Faith and Gentlehood,

Of Service and Sacrifice;

And it does not match our mood,

To turn so soon to your treacheries

That starve our land of her food.

Our ears still carry the sound

Of our once-Imperial seas,

Exultant after our King was crowned,

Beneath the sun and the breeze.

It is too early to have them bound

Or sold at your decrees.

Wait till the memory goes,

Wait till the visions fade,

We may betray in time, God knows,

But we would not have it said,

When you make report to our scornful foes,

That we kissed as we betrayed!



THE WAGE-SLAVES

1902

H GLORIOUS are the guarded heights

Where guardian souls abide—

Self-exiled from our gross delights—

Above, beyond, outside: 