OCR Text |
Show THE NIGHT OP MAN. Europe, how have kings dealt with thee, and sown Thine every acre from a human breast! Red was the seed and red the harrow prest To bitter fields whoso harvest was a moan; And the long years pass on to the unknown, And cannon utter now thy lord's unrest, Where still their armies gather for the test, And heavy darkness holds about the throne. And shall they sow forever in this wise To reap that corn whose roots take hold on Hell? Better a desert and the sunlight there, In which the" lions gaze with stony eyes From nameless ruins where the lizards dwell, And the small hawk floats lonely on the air. |