CARNOT

Death, winged with fire of hate from deathless hell

Wherein the souls of anarchs hiss and die,

With stroke as dire has cloven a heart as high

As twice beyond the wide sea's westward swell

The living lust of death had power to quell

Through ministry of murderous hands whereby

Dark fate bade Lincoln's head and Garfield's lie

Low even as his who bids his France farewell.

France, now no heart that would not weep with thee

Loved ever faith or freedom. From thy hand

The staff of state is broken: hope, unmanned

With anguish, doubts if freedom's self be free.

The snake-souled anarch's fang strikes all the land

Cold, and all hearts unsundered by the sea.