No man's men were they, no master's and no God's but these their
own:
Gods not loved in vain nor served amiss, nor all yet overthrown:
Love of country, Freedom, Wisdom, Light, and none save these alone.
King by king came up against them, sire and son, and turned to
flee:
Host on host roared westward, mightier each than each, if more
might be:
Field to field made answer, clamorous like as wave to wave at sea.
Strife to strife responded, loud as rocks to clangorous rocks
respond
Where the deep rings wreck to seamen held in tempest's thrall and
bond,
Till when war's bright work was perfect peace as radiant rose
beyond:
Peace made bright with fruit of battle, stronger made for storm
gone down,
With the flower of song held heavenward for the violet of her crown
Woven about the fragrant forehead of the fostress maiden's town.
Gods arose alive on earth from under stroke of human hands:
As the hands that wrought them, these are dead, and mixed with
time's dead sands:
But the godhead of supernal song, though these now stand not,
stands.
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