A HUNDRED Tsars shall rot to bone, A hundred kingdoms shall decline, A hundred battlefields shall suck Their glut of sacrificial wine; The Buddhist priest shall meditate Where now cathedral crosses gleam; The sons of Ghengis Khan shall bring To pass fulfillment of his dream; The shrill muezzin's chant shall chime At eventide with Ben Bow's bells; The kaffir's clucking voice be heard Where Godlessly now Paris dwells; The lout shall loll in lordly state; The beggar's child shall shower dole, Before your final word is writ Of honor, on the age's scroll. Your wish shall will the world to peace, The weaklings of the earth shall crawl To suckle at your fruitful breasts, And, fruitful, you shall feed them all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE TRENCHES by RICHARD ALDINGTON LOVE'S MIRACLE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE CHANT OF THE VULTURES by EDWIN MARKHAM THE STORY OF THE ASHES AND THE FLAME by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 4. THE MORAL by KAREN SWENSON |