Those corpses of young men, Those martyrs that hang from the gibbets, those hearts pierc’d by the gray lead, Cold and motionless as they seem live elsewhere with unslaughter’d vitality.

They live in other young men O kings! They live in brothers again ready to defy you, They were purified by death, they were taught and exalted.

Not a grave of the murder’d for freedom but grows seed for freedom, in its turn to bear seed, Which the winds carry afar and re-sow, and the rains and the snows nourish.

Not a disembodied spirit can the weapons of tyrants let loose, But it stalks invisibly over the earth, whispering, counseling, cautioning.

Liberty, let others despair of you⁠—I never despair of you.