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20

II.

They are leaving fast the ancient standing-places,
The altars and the churches and the creeds,
And for each drop from every heart that bleeds
Blossom a hundred flowers, a hundred graces!
I watched them,—and a light was on their faces
Even such that star nor sunshine any needs:
A light that leads the way to burning deeds
And sets a hero running stalwart races.
These are the founders of the future; they
Have set against their losses a great gain,
Nor caréd any longer to remain
Bowing beneath a dome of carven clay,
And therefore must they emigrate to day
Through penury and solitude and pain.