Explore "The Rebel" by Olive Tilford Dargan on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
A riot-maker! Can the fruit / Of frenzy be a gracious thing? / His soul has hands; above the bruit / They lift a song-bird quivering.
World-wrecker! Shall he trampling go / Till Beauty's drenched and lonely eyes / Mourn a deserted earth? But no! / Men go not down till men arise.
The game is Life's. She plays to win; / And whirls to dust her overlings; / Her abluent winds shall spare no sin, / Though hidden in the breast of kings;
And Earth is smiling as she takes / To her old lap their fallen bones, / For down the throbbing ways there wakes / The laughter of her greater sons.