“Oh, moist eyes,

And hurrying lips and heaving heart!

The world we’ve come to late is swollen hard

With perishing generations and their sins;

The civilizer’s spade grinds horribly

On dead men’s bones, and can not turn up soil,

That’s otherwise than fetid. All successes

Prove partial failure....

... All governments, some wrong;

The rich men make the poor who curse the rich,