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170
THE AMERICAN ELECTIONS
November 8, 1898
Sweet urn of poesy by Petrarca wrought,
The lily or rose of his rare love to rear,
Presumptuous do I choose thy sculptures clear
To shrine this gaudier passion-flower of thought.
Still, though in petal and calix it is fraught
With fire whose vehemence might scorch and sear,
Even hate hath moods when she is love's compeer,
When sorrow an equal task to both has taught.
The lily or rose of his rare love to rear,
Presumptuous do I choose thy sculptures clear
To shrine this gaudier passion-flower of thought.
Still, though in petal and calix it is fraught
With fire whose vehemence might scorch and sear,
Even hate hath moods when she is love's compeer,
When sorrow an equal task to both has taught.
Nay, wert thou not, my country, dear through dower
Of acts that diamond from thine annals glow,
To applaud or to upbraid thee were as one.
But now? Ah, shame for lust of needless power,
Shame for gross treachery to a fallen foe,
Shame for this rank jeer at thy Washington!
Of acts that diamond from thine annals glow,
To applaud or to upbraid thee were as one.
But now? Ah, shame for lust of needless power,
Shame for gross treachery to a fallen foe,
Shame for this rank jeer at thy Washington!
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