Ut Sementem Feceris, Ita Metes
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UT SEMENTEM FECERIS, ITA METES.
By Voltairine de Cleyre
(To the Czar, on a woman, a political prisoner, being flogged to death in Siberia.)
- How many drops must gather to the skies
- Before the cloud-burst comes, we may not know;
- How hot the fires in under hells must glow
- Ere the volcano's scalding lavas rise,
- Can none say; but all wot the hour is sure!
- Who dreams of vengeance has but to endure!
- He may not say how many blows must fall,
- How many lives be broken on the wheel,
- How many corpses stiffen 'neath the pall,
- How many martyrs fix the blood-red seal;
- But certain is the harvest time of Hate!
- And when weak moans, by an indignant world
- Re-echoed, to a throne are backward hurled,
- Who listens hears the mutterings of Fate!
Voltairine de Cleyre, “Ut Sementem Feceris, Ita Metes,” The Open Court 4, no. 23 (July 30, 1890): 2427.
Voltairine de Cleyre, “Ut Sementem Feceris, Ita Metes,” Mother Earth 1, no. 3 (May 1906): 25.