I22 
THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. 
 
Next, scythes laid to the root of every flower 
That asks but sunshine for its brief glad hour. 
Next, axes at the root of every tree 
That strains its top to immortality. 
Yea, o thou terrible magician, 
I see the black wings of suspicion 
Fanning each ear with tales of spite, 
Blasting each bud with bitter blight. 
I see the poisonous upas-tree, 
Its shade the ghastly trinity 
— Religion, law, morality — 
Sicken with its stifling breath 
Human loveliness to death. 
I myself the tool of priests, 
Tyrants, merchants, hags and beasts, 
Lawyers, doctors, artizans, 
Whores and theologians ! 
All my life misunderstood 
Built in slime and nursed with blood ! 
This my death divinely hallows 
Boot and rack, stake and gallows. 
Strong men crushed beneath my domes, 
Children tortured in my homes, 
Women tricked and raked and herded