Of course her work took strength. Her life was sapped by service in the war, She died for country, for America, As much as any soldier. So I say If her life came to any waste, what waste May her heroic life and death prevent? The world has spent two hundred billion dollars To put an egotist and strutting despot Out of the power he used to tyrannize Over his people with a tyranny Political in chief, to take away The glittering dominion of a crown. I want some good to us out of this war, And some emancipation. Let me tell you: I know a worse thing than a German king: It is the social scourge of poverty, Which cripples, slays the husband and the wife, And sends the children forth in life half formed. I know a tyranny more insidious Than any William had, it is the tyranny Of superstition, customs, laws and rules; The tyranny of the church, the tyranny Of marriage, and the tyranny of beliefs Concerning right and wrong, of good and evil; The tyranny of taboos, the despotism That rules our spirits with commands and threats: Ghosts of dead faiths and creeds, ghosts of the past. The tyranny, in short, that starves and chains Imprisons, scourges, crucifies the soul, Which only asks the chance to live and love, Freely as it wishes, which will live so If you take Poverty and chuck him out. Then make the main thing inner growth, take rules, Conventions and religion (save it be The worship of God in spirit without hands And without temples sacraments) the babble Of moralists, the rant and flummery Of preachers and of priests, and chuck them out. These things produce your waste and suffering. You tell a soul it sins and make it suffer, Spend years in impotence and twilight thought. You punish where no punishment should be, Weaken and break the soul. You weight the soul With idols and with symbols meaningless, When God gave but three things: the earth and air And mind to know them, live in freedom by them. Well, I would have America become As free as any soul has ever dreamed her, And if America does not get strength To free herself, now that the war is over. Then Elenor Murray's spirit has not won The thing she died for. So I go my way, Back to get supper, I who live, shall die In America as it is--Rise up and change it For mothers of the future Elenors. By now the press was full of Elenor Murray. And far and near, wherever she was known, Had lived, or taught, or studied, tongues were loosed In episodes or stories of the girl. The coroner on the street was button-holed, Received marked articles and letters, some Anonymous, some crazy. David Borrow Who helped this Alma Bell as lawyer, friend, Found in his mail a note from Alma Bell, Enclosed with one much longer, written for The coroner to read.