xi

Can it be own'd that kings were crown'd, Consecrate to such evil? God-appointed, by God anointed Only to play the devil! Their men to bind of the tiger kind, To bind and then to goad, Blundering, slavering, hot and blind, On murder's hollow road?

If kings are so, then let all go— Let my dear love cast down His lovely life, so we lay low The last to wear a crown. I'll look upon the steadfast stars, Patient and true and wise, And read in them the end of wars, As in my dead love's eyes.

O Lord of Life, for whom this earth Should image back Thy thought, Wherein the mystery of birth In Love like Thine be wrought, If pity stands with Thy commands, Grant a short breathing-space Ere men hold up their bloody hands Before Thy awful face.