Classic Poem

Ax and bundled rods let Cæsar's henchmen bear,
Down to the house of sods processional torchmen pass,--
When was your part with these, armed thought's aquilifer,
Turning with streaming standard where the barbarians mass!

Cæsar's screaming eagles black as Hell's vultures flew,
But birds went up our dawning splendid and wing and wing
And bright for the slaves and captives your fearless banner blew
And laughing-glad as a trumpet the faith you still could sing.

Old as the world is evil and disenchantment old.
Man's ancient heart is bitter, his hard eyes doubt of a sign.
Blown hair beneath that banner that floated in folds of gold,
In spirit I see you standing first in the battle-line.

Kind, and a girl, and little, but wiser than all their sneers;
Truer than their predictions, daring to be not base;
Daring to ride for the Captain who held through blood and tears
Life well lost for justice and love acclaimed to the race.

Still with shifting and turning, with minds and the ways of swine,
Earth is girded by Cæsar's men, life a stag in a snare,--
Yet still--your banner burning first in the battle-line,
Aye, and the trumpets blowing for dawning, Aquilifer!