Hate thou no man, but scorn all crafts, that smelt

The heart and mind for huge projectiles, shattered

When bursting grandly that some pride be flattered.

Nature beholds not Saxon, Slav, nor Celt;

She only sees the Human fragments scattered,

And, covering them, her eyes to rivers melt.

[!-- H2 anchor --]

THE CELTIC SOUL CRY

I