NOT that I love thy children, whose dull eyes

See nothing save their own unlovely woe,

Whose minds know nothing, nothing care to now, —

But that the roar of thy Democracies,

Thy reigns of Terror, thy great Anarchies,

Mirror my wildest passions like the sea

And give my rage a brother ——! Liberty!

For this sake only do thy dissonant cries

Delight my discreet soul, else might all kings

By bloody knout or treacherous cannonades

Rob nations of their rights inviolate

And I remain unmoved —and yet, and yet,

These Christs that die upon the barricades,

God knows it I am with them, in some things.

OSCAR WILDE (1854-1900). The Poems of Oscar Wilde. Vol. I. New York: F. M. Buckles & Company, 1906.