EASY the cry while vengeance now is wrought And from his lair the Anarchist is burned. "Shut be our harbors, closed be every port And from our shore be every alien turned." Yet while the clamor and the pursuit is hot And public anger public madness breeds, Be it not soon nor easily forgot That England thus an ancient title cedes. For centuries a pillow hath she spread For all that widowed goes and wandering And in her lap hath laid the unhappy head Or broken Statesman and of outcast King. Shall she alarmed by that small horde deny This old sea-haven to world-misery? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LETTER TO A POLICEMAN IN KANSAS CITY by KENNETH PATCHEN THE WALKING MAN OF RODIN by CARL SANDBURG THE METROPOLITAN TOWER by SARA TEASDALE IDEA: 14. TO TIME by MICHAEL DRAYTON THE HILL WIFE: THE OFT-REPEATED DREAM by ROBERT FROST THE LAST SIGNAL by THOMAS HARDY THE CITY AT THE END OF THINGS by ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN |