Towards democracy
434 Towards Democracy
The grizzled wrinkled old man on his little plot of ground, and the young man beside him, work doggedly on™ with their mattocks through the heat of the day;
The broad-bosomed placid-eyed girl tends her flock of goats on the higher ledges.
Ye leafing fig-trees, like silver candelabra of green flame!
And ye, pale-blossoming peaches, dainty bright!
And ye, ye immemorial aromatic herbs and bushesarbutus, myrtle, lavender, rosemary, thyme—trampled to perfume by the feet of long-forgotten races ;
And thou, blue bay, with myriad points of light, and sky above with subtle answering quiver, ;
And high far crests of gleaming purple crag, and snows beyond, '
Flaming, all flaming in the light!
Why speak ye not?
Cave men and women and children, on your sides by the sea-shore, ’
Your long skulls resting still in the palms of your bony hands, ; "A score millenniums lying in the same position— .
Why wake and speak ye not?
Why utter not the thoughts that were, for you, the world?
Ye dead that build the rocks, and are the Earth, and fill, * without a void, the crystal air!
And Thou one dead (for each and all of us)—one deadly for whom our life we’ld gladly give—