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John McCrae

Anarchy

I saw a city filled with lust and shame,
    Where men, like wolves, slunk through the grim half-light;
And sudden, in the midst of it, there came
    One who spoke boldly for the cause of Right.

And speaking, fell before that brutish race
    Like some poor wren that shrieking eagles tear,
While brute Dishonour, with her bloodless face
    Stood by and smote his lips that moved in prayer.

"Speak not of God! In centuries that word
    Hath not been uttered! Our own king are we."
And God stretched forth his finger as He heard
    And o'er it cast a thousand leagues of sea.

 
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About the poet
John McCrae
 
By the same poet
In Flanders Fields
The Anxious Dead
The Warrior
Isandlwana
The Unconquered Dead
The Captain
The Song of the Derelict
Quebec
Then and Now
Unsolved
The Hope of My Heart
Penance
Slumber Songs
The Oldest Drama
Recompense
Mine Host
Equality
Disarmament
The Dead Master
The Harvest of the Sea
The Dying of Pere Pierre
Eventide
Upon Watts' Picture "Sic Transit"
A Song of Comfort
The Pilgrims
The Shadow of the Cross
The Night Cometh
In Due Season
 
Related books
John McCrae at amazon.com


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