With mutual courtesy, and fair white flags
Afloat at camp, and every fight is drawn?
As soon encounter statues, balanced well
Upon their granite, fashioned not to move,
And drawing all mankind to hold in awe
Their grim persistence.
If, indeed, I sin
In counting somewhat freely on that Love
From which, through rolling ages, worlds have sprung,
And—last and best of all—the lords of worlds,