O Liberty, God-gifted -- Young and immortal maid -- In your high hand uplifted The torch declares your trade. Its crimson menace, flaming Upon the sea and shore, Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming That Law shall be no more. Austere incendiary, We're blinking in the light; Where is your customary Grenade of dynamite? Where are your staves and switches For men of gentle birth? Your mask and dirk for riches? Your chains for wit and worth? Perhaps, you've brought the halters You used in the old days, When round religion's altars You stabled Cromwell's bays? Behind you, unsuspected, Have you the axe, fair wench, Wherewith you once collected A poll-tax from the French America salutes you -- Preparing to disgorge. Take everything that suits you, And marry Henry George. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CAPTAIN; AFTER READING HENLEY'S INVICTUS by DOROTHEA DAY GOING AND STAYING by THOMAS HARDY THE BATTLE OF NASEBY by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY AN HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN FROM IRELAND by ANDREW MARVELL PSALM 49 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE DEATH OF CHILDHOOD BELIEFS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |