Poems (Tree)/And Afterwards, When Honour Has Made Good
AND afterwards, when honour has made good,And all you think you fight for shall take place,A late rejoicing to a crippled race;The bulldog's teeth relax and snap for food,The eagles fly to their forsaken brood,Within the ravaged nest. When no disgraceShall spread a blush across the haggard faceOf anxious Pride, already flushed with blood.
In victory will you have conquered Hate,And stuck old Folly with a bayonetAnd battered down the hideous prison gate?Or will the fatted gods be gloried yet,Glutted with gold and dust and empty state,The incense of our anguish and our sweat?
1917