Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité

LET US not fear for the creative word.

Though madness spreads its wings of fantasy,
Soulless and shameless, over a France bespclled,
Over a France betrayed, and wooing defeat;
Though from the Halls of Justice and the playgrounds
And fair fagades of Paris and the ancient
Provincial Capitals, those leaping letters
Vanish, besmeared upon and chiseled out,
Let us not fear: they shall not cease to burn
Behind the brow, to beat against the lips,
The sealed lips; they shall not cease to haunt
The echo in the prisoned heart of France.

We call them words, these three great attributes
Of the Logos; words, this life-stuff of the Spirit
From the Beginning. — We have juggled with them,
Delivered them over to the rant and bombast
And sentimental cant of politics,
Complacently: — and now the fate of the world
Hangs on these three we comprehended not.

So we, that knew not what we did, go down
To Doom? Heads high, too stupid to repent?
So the Dictator, with his bloody sponge,
Wipes off the dishonored motto from the face
Of captive, fearful, and bewildered Earth?
And generations crawl from slavish wombs
To people England, France, America,
With senseless robots, to eternity?

Defeatists! — In the Beginning was the Word.
We could not spawn a robot, breed a puppet,
Bring forth a soulless engine, if we would.
Though we be forfeit, still within our blood
Whisper the deathless syllables of life.

Let us not fear for the Creative Word.