Statesmen no more the tinker's way
Mended and patched from day to day,
Content with piecing part with part,
But took the mighty problem whole,
Beginning with the human heart:
For noble rulers make in vain
Unselfish laws for selfish men,
And give the whole wide world its vote,
But who is going to give it soul?
And then I dreamed had come to reign
True peace within our land again;
Not peace that rots the soul with ease,
Or those ignoble 'rivalries
Of peace' more murderous than war,
But just the simple peasant peace
The weary world is waiting for.
With simple food and simple wear
Go lots of love and little care,
And joy is saved from over-sweet
By struggle not too hard to bear.
So dreamed I on from dream to dream,
Till, slow returning to my theme,
Upon my vote I looked again—
To whom was I to give it then?
That uncorrupted maidenhood,
My little power for public good.
What party was there that I knew
That I might dare intrust it to,
A perfect party fair and square—
My House of Commons in the air?
Though called by many different names,
Each one professed the noblest aims;
Should all be right, 'twas logical
That I should give my vote to all!
And then, of parties old and new
Which one, if only one, were true?
The divination passed my skill,—
My maiden vote is maiden still.
THE ANIMALCULE ON MAN
An animalcule in my blood
Rose up against me as I dreamed,
He was so tiny as he stood,
You had not heard him, though he screamed.
He cried 'There is no Man!'
And thumped the table with his fist,
Then died—his day was scarce a span,—
That microscopic atheist.
Yet all the while his little soul
Within what he denied did live,—
Poor part, how could he know the whole?
And yet he was so positive!