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18. Whom have you slaughtered lately, European headsman?
Whose is that blood upon you, so wet and sticky?

19. I see the clear sunsets of the martyrs,
I see from the scaffolds the descending ghosts,
Ghosts of dead lords, uncrowned ladies, impeached
ministers, rejected kings,
Rivals, traitors, poisoners, disgraced chieftains, and
the rest.

20. I see those who in any land have died for the good
cause,
The seed is spare, nevertheless the crop shall never
run out,
(Mind you, foreign kings, priests, the crop shall
never run out.)

21. I see the blood washed entirely away from the axe,
Both blade and helve are clean,
They spirt no more the blood of European nobles
they clasp no more the necks of queens.

22. I see the headsman withdraw and become useless,
I see the scaffold untrodden and mouldy—I see no
longer any axe upon it,
I see the mighty and friendly emblem of the power of
my own race, the newest largest race.

23. America! I do not vaunt my love for you,
I have what I have.

24. The axe leaps!
The solid forest gives fluid utterances,