The Revolution (poem)
There is no pause. Still blow resounds on blow,
The order old making to shake and reel
From base to pinnacle. To dust brought low,
Crescent and Cross the shock of ruin feel.
Shallow Reaction tries in vain to stem
The Revolution’s surge, which more and more,
Drowning tiara, throne, and diadem.
Spreads undulating wide from shore to shore.
What though Priest, Kaiser, Sultan, King still sit
Sceptred and crowned above the encroaching flood?
Belshazzar’s legend is above them writ,
And they grow pale before Man’s altered mood.
Voices of Revolution, trumpet-clear,
Byron and Shelley, lo, your day is near!