What cometh here from west to east awending? <br />And who are these, the marchers stern and slow? <br />We bear the message that the rich are sending <br />Aback to those who bade them wake and know. <br />Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay, <br />But one and all if they would dusk the day. <br /> <br />We asked them for a life of toilsome earning, <br />They bade us bide their leisure for our bread; <br />We craved to speak to tell our woeful learning; <br />We come back speechless, bearing back our dead. <br />Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay, <br />But one and all if they would dusk the day. <br /> <br />They will not learn; they have no ears to hearken. <br />They turn their faces from the eyes of fate; <br />Their gay-lit halls shut out the skies that darken. <br />But, lo! this dead man knocking at the gate. <br />Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay, <br />But one and all if they would dusk the day. <br /> <br />Here lies the sign that we shall break our prison; <br />Amidst the storm he won a prisoner's rest; <br />But in the cloudy dawn the sun arisen <br />Brings us our day of work to win the best. <br />Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay, <br />But one and all if they would dusk the day.<br /><br />William Morris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-death-song/
