< Page:Poems of the Great War - Cunliffe.djvu
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160 VACHEL LINDSAY
��The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart. He sees the dreadnaughts scouring every main. He carries on his shawl-wrapped shoulders now The bitterness, the folly and the pain.
He cannot rest until a spirit-dawn Shall come ; — the shining hope of Europe free : The league of sober folk, the Workers' Earth Bringing long peace to Cornland, Alp and Sea.
It breaks his heart that kings must murder still. That all his hours of travail here for men Seem yet in vain. And who will bring white peace That he may sleep upon his hill again ?
— Vachel Lindsay.
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