 | The Stranger at the Gate |  |
VI
And yet, when the years had humbled
The kings in the Realm of the Boy,
Song-built bastions crumbled,
Ash-heaps smothering Troy;
The kings in the Realm of the Boy,
Song-built bastions crumbled,
Ash-heaps smothering Troy;
Thirsting for shattered flagons,
Quaffing a brackish cup,
With all of his chariots, wagons—
He never could quite grow up.
Quaffing a brackish cup,
With all of his chariots, wagons—
He never could quite grow up.
The debt to the ogre, To-morrow,
He never could comprehend:
Why should the borrowers borrow?
Why should the lenders lend?
He never could comprehend:
Why should the borrowers borrow?
Why should the lenders lend?
Never an oak tree borrowed,
But took for its needs—and gave.
Never an oak tree sorrowed;
Debt was the mark of the slave.
But took for its needs—and gave.
Never an oak tree sorrowed;
Debt was the mark of the slave.
Grass in the priceless weather
Sucked from the paps of the Earth,
And the hills that were lean it fleshed with its green—
Oh, what is a lesson worth?
Sucked from the paps of the Earth,
And the hills that were lean it fleshed with its green—
Oh, what is a lesson worth?
33
But still did the buyers barter
And the sellers squint at the scales;
And price was the stake of the martyr,
And cost was the lock of the jails.
And the sellers squint at the scales;
And price was the stake of the martyr,
And cost was the lock of the jails.
| The Stranger at the Gate | |