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222

REVOLUTION

When blood-red Revolution in the air
Waveth her banner—when thought's streams flow deep
Waking, loud-resonant, from their summer sleep—
When all the age one wide unrest doth share—
When the Republic's lions from their lair
Emerge, and with their roar make cowards creep,—
When vast ideas like cataracts overleap
The common bounds, and down the hill-sides tear:
Then is love sweet? Yea, sweeter than of old,
When love's each whisper turned life's tides to gold!
Yea, after battle softer is the rose
Beside the wayside as the victor goes,
Stiff, wearied, bleeding, wounded, towards his home,
His lips yet crusted with red battle-foam.