BRUTE beast, at last you have it… Truth’s not a phrase, justice an i… Your life ran red with murder, gre… Blood has washed blood clean, and… Your carrion will be purified. Ye…
‘Chant of the Firemen’ ‘THIS is the steamer’s pit. The ovens like dragons of fire Glare thro’ their close-lidded eye… With restless hungry desire.
IN the chill grey summer dawn-lig… We pass through the empty streets; The rattling wheels are all silent… No friend his fellow greets. Here and there, at the corners,
SWEETEST, in desperate hours Of clouds and lightning and rain, You came like a vision of flowers And summer and song once again: You came, and I could not receive…
An Address on her Jubilee Year MADAM, you have done well! Let… Speech addressed to a woman who ne… Daub you over with lies or deafen… I will praise you alone for your a…
(To——) HAD you lived when a tyrant King Strove to make all the slaves of o… With Nobles and with Churchmen yo… Had stood unflinching, pure and tr…
SIR, we approve your curling lip… At this vile sight. These men, these women are 'brute… Sir, but that you are right? Panders and harlots, rogues and th…
Men and boys, O fathers, brothers… Burst these fetters round you boun… Women, sisters, wives and mothers, Lift your faces from the ground! O Democracy, O People,
‘LIBERTY?’ Is that the cry, th… We have heard it oft of yore. Once it had, we think, a meaning; Let us hear it now no more. We have read what history tells us
THRO’ the mists of years, Thro’ the lies of men, Your bloody sweat and tears, Your desperate hopes and fears Reach us once again,
FROM the dusty jaded sunlight of… Through the open bedroom window wh… palms, There came a sound of music, thril… That startled me from slumber with…
DOWN in the woodlands, where the… Close to the breezy river, by the… Of ferns and flowers that shun the… But gather round the lizard-haunte… And listen to the birds’ sweet syl…
(After reading his 'Modern Painte… YES, you do well to mock us, you Who knew our bitter woe ' To jeer the false, deny the true In us blind-struggling low,
’TIS not when I am here, In these homeless homes, Where sin and shame and disease And foul death comes; ’Tis not when heart and brain
In night-long days, in aeons where all Time’s nights are one… where life and death sing paeans as of Greeks and Galileans, never begun or done;