 | English Roses |  |
THE STATESMAN.
I see him now, the statesman standAs some lone crag by lightning rent,
With thunder voice and lifted hand
Sole, sad, and eminent.
From caverned eyes black beams of fire
Shoot forth as arrows awful fate,
494
Is speech predestinate,
He is his message, but the voice
Which carries him and all his woes;
Necessity, that has no choice,
Shakes him with earthquake throes.
No thought of wavering or a rest—
He gives the simple mandate nude;
Possessing and by this possest,
In dreadful solitude.
No weak misgiving now can bend
His purpose, all unmoved by arts;
He sees before him but one end—
To break those stubborn hearts,
Around him rolls an iron storm—
The burning words that blast and strike
The hardest life to light and form,
Rain fast and hammer-like.
| English Roses | |