Nay, not for place, but for the right,
To make this fair world fairer still—
Or lowly lily of the night,
Or sun topped tower of a hill,
Or high or low, or near or far,
Or dull or keen, or bright or dim,
Or blade of grass, or brightest star—
All, all are but the same to him.
O pity of the strife for place!
O pity of the strife for power!