'TIS not when I am here, <br />In these homeless homes, <br />Where sin and shame and disease <br />And foul death comes; <br />'Tis not when heart and brain <br />Would be still and forget <br />Men and women and children <br />Dragged down to the pit: <br />But when I hear them declaiming <br />Of 'liberty,' 'order,' and 'law,' <br />The husk-hearted Gentleman <br />And the mud-hearted Bourgeois, <br />That a sombre hateful desire <br />Burns up slow in my breast <br />To wreck the great guilty Temple, <br />And give us rest!<br /><br />Francis William Lauderdale Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/anarchism/
