The brethren Pride and Avarice,
The monarchs of the world again.
If this thing be and no new world
Rise from the old dead world beneath,
Then morning's chaplet seven-pearled
Is made the bauble-crest of death;
All dreams belied, all vows made void,
Pale Hope a wingless fugitive,
And man a stumbling anthropoid—
Can these things be if England live?