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Freedom's Wardens Post by :Jonathon_Mays Category :Poems Author :Edward Doyle Date :July 2011 Read :1915

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Freedom's Wardens

Look! British fury that, barraging, lights
Up Irish skies, like pathways down to hell,
Doubles its fire to reach our land as well,
Where Freedom's Wardens cry from justice' heights:
"'Tis Deicide to murder Human Rights.
Stop foul God-slaughter where to not rebel,
In order to develop and excel,
Were God in man, succumbed to age-longed blights."

Where Heavenward rose the God in man of old,
Staunch stand these Wardens. Sleepless, they behold
Each turn of England's Evil Eye. They call,
When she would form the fulminate of gold,
A thumb and finger-pinch of which, let fall,
Might blast Columbia's peaks to slit of thrall.

(The end)
Edward Doyle's poem: Freedom's Wardens

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List To Demosthenes, If Not To Hearst List To Demosthenes, If Not To Hearst

List To Demosthenes, If Not To Hearst
Of all the fulminates, gold is the worst, Which England, aeroplaning, now, lets drop By day and night, in bank, press, church and shop, Timed to the minute that it is to burst. List to Demosthenes, if not to Hearst, Sublime Republic! Lest thy great heart stop, Shocked by the blast of Freedom's every prop, And bats and owls in dwellings, Human's erst. "Watch Macedon. She drops her gold, in creeping Beneath

Why Play With Words, England? Why Play With Words, England?

Why Play With Words, England?
Why play with words? There never can be peace Till Ireland is set free. One might as well Expect the great Arch-angel rest in Hell And genuflect to Satan's blasphemies, As Erin's spirit that, for centuries, Has been aloft with God in virtue, sell, Like Esaw, her birthright, and not rebel, But to her home's invaders, bend her knees. Her spirit is no norbury Banshee-- To wail and, then, to vanish. She