We had been winter-bound these later years,
Starved in the frozen wasting of the soul,
That faltered, losing hold in doubts and fears
On that for which our brothers paid the toll,
The spirit’s life, in spending of their blood.
“May not one treat, ” we said, “with tyrannies,
forget the tombs and torments, check the flood
Of rising hate, and laugh at silly lies?
Is it for us officiously to tame
The new won power in its first excess?
Time will abate the frenzy and the pride.”
Then for our great resolving, then there came
A voice, a flame, a holy manfulness
That shouted “Freedom! ” and was glad,
And died.

Beverly, Autumn,1939