To The Defilers

Go, thieves, and take your riches, creep To corners out of honest sight; We shall not be so poor to keep One thought of envy or despite.

But know that in sad surety when Your sullen will betrays this earth To sorrows of contagion, then Beelzebub renews his birth.

When you defile the pleasant streams And the wild bird’s abiding-place, You massacre a million dreams And cast your spittle in God’s face.