Two Nations by Algernon Charles Swinburne
page 35 of 62 (56%)
page 35 of 62 (56%)
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Because one hour hath power to draw
Mist round him wreathed as links to bind? And what if now keen anguish drains The very wellspring of thy veins And very spirit of thy breath? The life outlives them and disdains; The sense which makes the soul remains, And blood of thought which travaileth To bring forth hope with procreant pains. O thou that satest bound in chains Between thine hills and pleasant plains As whom his own soul vanquisheth, Held in the bonds of his own thought, Whence very death can take off nought, Nor sleep, with bitterer dreams than death, What though thy thousands at thy knees Lie thick as grave-worms feed on these, Though thy green fields and joyous places Are populous with blood-blackening faces And wan limbs eaten by the sun? Better an end of all men's races, Better the world's whole work were done, And life wiped out of all our traces, And there were left to time not one, Than such as these that fill thy graves Should sow in slaves the seed of slaves. ANTISTROPHE 1 |
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