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Poem by 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.

ФSpeak not of God! In centuries that word
Hath not been uttered! Our own king are we.Ф
And God stretched forth his finger as He heard
And oТer it cast a thousand leagues of sea.



John McCrae


John McCrae's other poems:
  1. Equality
  2. Eventide
  3. The Anxious Dead
  4. The Captain
  5. The Dying of Pere Pierre


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