Robert Graves

Angry Samson

Are they blind, the lords of Gaza
In their strong towers,
Who declare Samson pillow—smothered
And stripped of his powers?

O stolid Philistines,
Stare now in amaze
At my foxes running in your cornfields
With their tails ablaze,

At swung jaw—bone, at bees swarming
In the stark lion’s hide,
At these, the gates of well—walled Gaza
A—clank to my stride.