The Escape

We watched you building, stone by stone,     The well-washed cells and well-washed graves     We shall inhabit but not own     When Britons ever shall be slaves;     The water's waiting in the trough,     The tame oats sown are portioned free,     There is Enough, and just Enough,     And all is ready now but we.     But you have not caught us yet, my lords,     You have us still to get.     A sorry army you'd have got,     Its flags are rags that float and rot,     Its drums are empty pan and pot,     Its baggage is--an empty cot;     But you have not caught us yet.     A little; and we might have slipped     When came your rumours and your sales     And the foiled rich men, feeble-lipped,     Said and unsaid their sorry tales;     Great God!    It needs a bolder brow     To keep ten sheep inside a pen,     And we are sheep no longer now;     You are but Masters.    We are Men.     We give you all good thanks, my lords,     We buy at easy price;     Thanks for the thousands that you stole,     The bribes by wire, the bets on coal,     The knowledge of that naked whole     That hath delivered our flesh and soul     Out of your Paradise.     We had held safe your parks; but when     Men taunted you with bribe and fee,     We only saw the Lord of Men     Grin like an Ape and climb a tree;     And humbly had we stood without     Your princely barns; did we not see     In pointed faces peering out     What Rats now own the granary.     It is too late, too late, my lords,     We give you back your grace:     You cannot with all cajoling     Make the wet ditch, or winds that sting,     Lost pride, or the pawned wedding rings,     Or drink or Death a blacker thing     Than a smile upon your face.