DREAMER-OF-THE-AGE
What then! Would you be willing
To quit the caravan,
And fall again to drilling,
Pent in the walled meidan,
When history flings open
Blank scrolls for you to write
Such victories as no pen
Has ever brought to light?
You shall not burn as Jengiz,
Nor rage like Timur Lang.
Your foemen are ferengis
Of whom no epic sang.
The housed that blame the tented,
Or comfort those that think,
The flocks that die contented
With settling down to blink
The sun we keep our eyes on,
That bow their heads too far
To face their own horizon,
On these be war on war.
Cursed by the bonds you sever,
The bondsmen you release,
Go, seek the Land of Fever
And find the Land of Ease.