Page:The Hope of the Great Community (1916).djvu/150

 :Horror of gibbet and cord,
 * Mowed us as sheaves for the grave,
 * Mowed us down for the right.
 * We do not grudge or repent.
 * Freely to freedom we gave
 * Pledges, till life should be spent.


 * Statesman, what of the night? —
 * The night will last me my time.
 * The gold on a crown or a crime
 * Looks well enough yet by the lamps.
 * Have we not fingers to write,
 * Lips to swear at a need?
 * Then, when danger decamps,
 * Bury the word with the deed.


 * Exile, what of the night? —
 * The tides and the hours run out,
 * The seasons of death and of doubt,
 * The night-watches bitter and sore.
 * In the quicksands leftward and right
 * My feet sink down under me;
 * But I know the scents of the shore
 * And the broad blown breaths of the sea.


 * Captives, what of the night? —
 * It rains outside overhead
 * Always, a rain that is red,
 * And our faces are soiled with the rain.
 * Here in the season’s despite
 * Day-time and night-time are one,
 * Till the curse of the kings and the chain
 * Break, and their toils be undone.