Power poems/ page 10 of 324 /
You who are happy in a thousand homes,Or overworked therein, to a dumb peace;Whose souls are wholly centered in the lifeOf that small group you personally love;Who told you that you need not know or careAbout the sin and sorrow of the world?
Do you believe the sorrow of the worldDoes not concern you in your little homes? --That you are licensed to avoid the careAnd toil for human progress, human peace,And the enlargement of our power of loveUntil it covers every field of life?
The one first duty of all human lifeIs to promote the progress of the worldIn righteousness, in wisdom, truth and love;And you ignore it, hidden in your homes,Content to keep them in uncertain peace,Content to leave all else without your care
Come forth, O Man, from darkness into light,Renounce the dust, break through thy sordid bars,For ever leave the crawling shapes of Night,And move erect among thy native stars:No longer grovel in a foetid cellWhen all the spaces of the sky are thine,With Sloth and Want no more a beggar dwellWhen thou canst claim a heritage divine;Awake and live! nor dream the dreams of deathThat brood, fantastic, fearful, o'er thy grave,Thou art not of the stuff that perisheth,Nor unto Fate and Time art thou a slave;Thy power extends beyond the starry Pole,And worlds and suns revolve within thy soul
Here where the grey rhenoster clothes the hill, Drowsing beside a boulder in the sun,Slumbrous-inert, so gloomy and so still, On the warm steep where aimless sheep-paths run,A short thick length of chevron-pattern's skin, A wide flat head so lazy on the sand,Unblinking eyes that warn of power within, Lies he, -- the limbless terror of the land
Beyond the steep ramparts of the high Cordilliferes,Beyond the dun fogs where the black eagle's eyrie's,Higher, far higher than the bold craters, like funnels,Whence springs out the lava from its deep boiling tunnels,With wings that hang down, jagged, red in some places,The condor looks silent o'er limitless spaces
Fair stood the wind for France,When we our sails advance;Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry;But putting to the main,At Caux, the mouth of Seine,With all his martial train Landed King Harry.
Not that in colour it was like thy hair,For armlets of that thou mayst let me wear;Nor that thy hand is oft embrac'd and kiss'd,For so it had that good which oft I miss'd;Not for that seely old morality,That as those links are tied our love should be;Nor for the luck sake; but the bitter cost