If I should worship at thine ancient shrine,
Where thy good sons, incensed by love of war,
Now clamor, as their fathers did of yore —
If I should sacrifice what is not mine.
Nor any living god's, nor even thine —
If for the sake of honor I must pour
This cup of life upon thy barren shore.
How will it fare then with my love divine?
No ! let thy sons go forth to burn and slay :
Let them for love of thee and glory smear
And tear the love of all that's pure and dear ;
Let them this loveless love in rage display ;
I can not join them ; no, I can not cheer
As they beneath my window pass to-day.
What care I for the tears the maudlin crowd
Sheds o'er my bier — for praise of Cburch and
State—
For glory that remains within the gate
Of worldly things — for men's esteem avowed —
For freedom that is not with love endowed —
For fame that lingers oft and comes too late.
When these the sorrow of my love create
And haunt her with the shadow of my shroufl?
How cowardly, self-centered have I grown —
How dead to true and noble feelings all?
Why not, when they the human soul enthrall —
Why not, when they the beast in man enthrone?
I cling to love, and with love I will fall.
Unwept, unsung, unhonored and unknown.
What will these kings and war-lords of the land
And all their ministers of murder fell
Do with their arms and fleets — all tools of hell —
If every son of man resolve to stand
A-wieldingf, king-like, in his home the wand,
Beside the ones he loves and honors well ?
Can force this gentle host of peace compel,
When loving hearts their amber wings expand?
O love, though hounded, outlawed we may be —
Though Slander, dagger-drawn, be on our trail —
Though Hatred with her hydra tongues should
rail
At us, and though left sinking in the sea
Of ostracism, ay, never will I quail,
But will now and forever cling to thee.