What barriers are these that bid me stand
Baffled, amazed, and wrathful at the sign
That threatens me for claiming what is mine!
Have we not walked together hand in hand
Down lanes of Devon; mused upon the sand
Beside the Bay of Naples; drunk the wine
Of famed Fiesole, where Shelley's line
Thundered of freedom for Italia's land!
Tradition built this guarded shadow-wall,
And Shelley's song hath strength to sing it down.
Come, brave the craven face funereal,
Of Pharisees who weave of thorns a crown
For him who has not faltered at the cross,
But counts that gain which others reckon loss.