True and False Love of Freedom
They that for freedom feel not love but lust,
Irreverent, knowing not her spiritual claim,
And they, the votaries blind of windy fame.
And they who cry, " I will because I must " ;
They too that launch, screened by her shield august,
A bandit's shaft, some private mark their aim;
And they that make her sacred cause their game,
From restlessness or spleen or sheer disgust
At duteous days — all these, the brood of night,
Diverse, by one black note detected stand,
Their scorn of every barrier raised by right
Irreverent, knowing not her spiritual claim,
And they, the votaries blind of windy fame.
And they who cry, " I will because I must " ;
They too that launch, screened by her shield august,
A bandit's shaft, some private mark their aim;
And they that make her sacred cause their game,
From restlessness or spleen or sheer disgust
At duteous days — all these, the brood of night,
Diverse, by one black note detected stand,
Their scorn of every barrier raised by right
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