Can there be one whose blood from England finds <br />Nurture and source, who sees her war to-day <br />And yearns not for the liberative fray? <br />If such a one there be, what darkness blinds. <br />His vision, or what craft of cunning minds <br />Have made that vision their corrupted prey? <br />Now is the season of the world's dismay, <br />And now a cry goes forth on all the winds. <br /> <br />Now calls the Lioness, and one by one <br />Her whelps make answer, east and south and west; <br />But thou, the greatest of that royal line, <br />America! dost slumber in the sun, <br />Nor loose the allegiant thunder in thy breast, <br />Nor dream what world-derision shall be thine.<br /><br />George Sterling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/civilization-at-bay/
