And now for Elenor Murray. Top of brain Where ideals float like clouds, we owed to France A debt, but had we paid it, if the dog, The dachshund, mad at last, had left our ships To freedom of the seas? Say what you will, This England is the smartest thing in time, Can never fall, be conquered while she keeps That mind of hers, those eyes that see all things, Spies or no spies, knows every secret hatched In every corner of the house of Jack. And with one language spoken by more souls Than any tongue, leads minds by written words; Writes treaties, compacts which forstall the sword, And makes it futile when it's drawn against her.... You cuff your enemy at school or make A naso-digital gesture, coming home You fear your enemy, so walk beside The gentle teacher; if your enemy Throws clods at you, he hits the teacher. Well, 'Twas wise to hide munitions back of skirts, And frocks of little children, most unwise For Dachshund William to destroy the skirts And frocks to sink munitions, since the wearers Happened to be Americans. William fell Jumping about his room and spilled the clock, Raked off the mantel; broke his billikens, His images of Jack by doing this. For, seeing this, we rise; ten million youths Take guns for war, and many Elenor Murrays Swept out of placid places by the ripples Cross seas to serve. This girl was French in part, In spirit was American. Look back Do you not see Voltaire lay hold of her, Hands out of tombs and spirits, from the skies Lead her to Europe? Trace the causes back To Adam, or the dwellers of the lakes, It is enough to see the souls that stirred The Revolution of the French which drove The ancient evils from the house of Jack. It is enough to hope that from this war The vestiges of feudal wrongs shall lie In Jack's great dust-pan, swept therein and thrown In garbage cans by maidens all forlorn, The Fates we'll call them now, lame goddesses, Hags halt, far sighted, seeing distant things, Near things but poorly--this is much to hope! But if we get a freedom that is free For Elenor Murrays, maidens all forlorn, And tattered men, and so prevent the wars, Already budding in this pact of peace, This war is good, and Elenor Murray's life Not waste, but gain.