III — Section 8

We here renounce our Saxon blood.

Tomorrow's hopes, an April flood

Come roaring in. The newest race

Is born of her resilient grace.

We here renounce our Teuton pride:

Our Norse and Slavic boasts have died:

Italian dreams are swept away,

And Celtic feuds are lost today….

She sings of lilacs, maples, wheat,

Her own soil sings beneath her feet,

Of springtime

And Virginia,

Our Mother, Pocahontas.

Concerning Emperors

I. God Send the Regicide

Would that the lying rulers of the world

Were brought to block for tyrannies abhorred.

Would that the sword of Cromwell and the Lord,

The sword of Joshua and Gideon,

Hewed hip and thigh the hosts of Midian.

God send that ironside ere tomorrow's sun;

Let Gabriel and Michael with him ride.

God send the Regicide.

II. A Colloquial Reply: To Any Newsboy

If you lay for Iago at the stage door with a brick

You have missed the moral of the play.

He will have a midnight supper with Othello and his wife.

They will chirp together and be gay.

But the things Iago stands for must go down into the dust:

Lying and suspicion and conspiracy and lust.

And I cannot hate the Kaiser (I hope you understand.)

Yet I chase the thing he stands for with a brickbat in my hand.

Niagara