The Purple East A series of sonnets on England's desertion of Armenia by William Watson: With a frontispiece by G. F. Watts |
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LAST WORD |
 | The Purple East |  |
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LAST WORD
And save to mourn, is there nought left to do,Nought ye can do, O sons of England? Yes:
Ye can arise, reclaim your manliness,
And flee the things that are unmaking you.
Still in your midst there dwells a remnant, who
Love not an unclean Art, a Stage no less
Unclean, a gibing and reviling Press,
A febrile Muse, and Fiction febrile too.
And they it is would pluck you from this slime
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With sloth that slays and torpor that is crime
Till ye can feel nought keenly, see nought plain.
Hearken their call, and heed, while yet is time,
Lest ye be lulled too deep to wake again.
| The Purple East | |