The people met me at the rescued gate,
On streaming in the immeasurable joy,
Warriors with wounds, gray priests, old men sedate,
The wife, the child, the maiden, and the boy.
Then followed others—some as from a tomb,
Their face a blank, and vacant; blinded some;
Some that had whitened in the dungeon’s gloom;
Some, from long years of lonely silence, dumb.
Anatomies of children with wild glare,
Like beasts new caught; and man‐like spectres pale;
And shapes like women, fair, or one time fair
(Unhappiest these), that would not lift the veil.
Then saw I what is wrought on man by men:
Then saw I woman’s glory and her shame:
Then learned I that which freedom is—till then
The soldier, not of her, but of her name.
The meaning then of Country, Virtue, Faith,
Flashed on me, lightning‐like: I pressed my brow
Down on the wayside dust, and vowed till death
My life to these. _That_ was my bridal vow.