Nor niche in the Chancel of Fame;
No tablet recited the list of his deeds,
Nor blazoned the worth of his name.
He died as men do who answer the call
With boots on and pierced to the heart;
He died and those lived who, sneering at him,
Sucked the people’s blood dry in the mart;
Conniving at profit, a pacifist brood,
Not unwilling a country to sell;
Iniquitous, plotting and pandering to pelf—