Upon the clothes behind the tenement, That hang like ghosts suspended from the lines, Linking each flat, but to each indifferent, Incongruous and strange the moonlight shines.

Upon the clothes behind the tenement, That hang like ghosts suspended from the lines, Linking each flat, but to each indifferent, Incongruous and strange the moonlight shines.

If we must die, O let us nobly die.

Nations, like plants and human beings, grow. And if the development is thwarted they are dwarfed and overshadowed.

I know the dark delight of being strange, The penalty of difference in the crowd, The loneliness of wisdom among fools.

If we must die, let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, If we must die, O let us nobly die.

Idealism is like a castle in the air if it is not based on a solid foundation of social and political realism.