Thy tranquil face looks evermore to sea:
Now turn, and know the treason at thy back!
Turn to the anarchs’ turrets, and behold
The cunning ones that reap where others sow!
In those great strongholds lifted to the sun
They plot dominion. Thronèd greeds conspire,
Half allied in a brotherhood malign,
Against the throneless many....
Would One might pour within thy breast of bronze
Spirit and life! Then should thy loyal hand