What if my sword can fling the Sheath aside
And naked plunge into the crimson tide,
Were’t not a shame, were’t not a shame for me,
By a “mere scrap of paper” to abide?
XIV
Indeed, indeed, continually I swore
For Peace—but was I solemn when I swore?
And then—then came the Day and sword in hand
My threadbare piety apieces tore.