TO THE BARTHOLDI STATUE
by: Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914)
- LIBERTY,
God-gifted--
- Young and immortal maid--
- In your high hand uplifted,
- The torch declares your trade.
-
- Its crimson menace, flaming
- Upon the sea and shore,
- Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming
- That Law shall be no more.
-
- Austere incendiary,
- We're blinking in the light;
- Where is your customary
- Grenade of dynamite?
-
- Where are your staves and switches
- For men of gentle birth?
- Your mask and dirk for riches?
- Your chains for wit and worth?
-
- Perhaps, you've brought the halters
- You used in the old days,
- When round religion's altars
- You stabled Cromwell's bays?
-
- Behind you, unsuspected,
- Have you the axe, fair wench,
- Wherewith you once collected
- A poll-tax from the French?
-
- America salutes you--
- Preparing to "disgorge."
- Take everything that suits you,
- And marry Henry George.
"To the Bartholdi Statue"
is reprinted from The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce Vol.
IV: Shapes of Clay. Ambrose Bierce. New York: Neale Publishing
Company, 1910. |
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