Great democrat as well! In 1862 Charles publishes “How Orchid Flowers are Fertilized by Insects,” And you give forth a proclamation saying “The Union must have peace, or I wipe out The blot of negro slavery. You see, The symphony’s the thing, and if you mar it, Contending over slavery, I remove The source of the disharmony. I admit The freedom of the press--but for the Union. When you abuse the Union, you shall stop. And when you are in jail, no habeas corpus Shall bring relief--I have suspended it.” To-day they call you libertarian-- Well, so you were, but just as Beauty is, And Truth is, even if they curb and vanquish The lower heights of beauty and of truth. They take your speech and deeds and give you place In Hebrew temples with Ezekiel, Habakkuk and Isaiah--you emerge From this association, master man! You are not of the faith that breeds the ethic Wranglers, who make economic goals The strain and test of life. You are not one, Spite of your lash and sword threat, who believe God will avenge the weak. That is the dream Which builds millenniums where disharmonies That make the larger harmony shall cease-- A dream not yours. And they shall lose you who Enthrone you as a prophet who cut through The circle of our human sphere of life To let in wrath and judgments, final tests On Life around the price of sparrows, weights Wherewith bread shall be weighed.... There is a windless flame where cries and tears, Where hunger, strife, and war and human blood No shadow cast, and where the love of Truth, Which is not love of individual souls, Finds solace in a Judgment of our life. That is the Flame that took both Charles and You-- O leader in a Commonwealth of Thought! VIII GRANT AND LOGAN AND OUR TEARS ’Twixt certain parallels of latitude; Say thirty-seven and forty-two and more; And certain meridians, say ninety-one And eighty-seven plus. The top line drawn to leave the lower lake Shaped like a drinking cup to meet your needs; To bind you to the east and west, Save you from tributary servitude Through Mississippi’s River to the south. No sheds of hills to guard you on the north Against the arctic winds loosed at the pole, Or Medicine Hat parturient as the bag Of Mad Æolus. The valley and the river just a hall-way Making a draft for tropic heat in summer-- Well, here you are in physiography. Upon a time black soil was poured Over your surface as the cook Pours chocolate on a cake. So you are fertile, never a land so rich.