Departure

 While the far farewell music thins and fails, 
And the broad bottoms rip the bearing brine - 
All smalling slowly to the gray sea line - 
And each significant red smoke-shaft pales, 

Keen sense of severance everywhere prevails, 
Which shapes the late long tramp of mounting men 
To seeming words that ask and ask again: 
"How long, O striving Teutons, Slavs, and Gaels 

Must your wroth reasonings trade on lives like these, 
That are as puppets in a playing hand? - 
When shall the saner softer polities 
Whereof we dream, have play in each proud land, 
And patriotism, grown Godlike, scorn to stand 
Bondslave to realms, but circle earth and seas?"

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