AND STILL WE DREAM 
    And still we dream, coiled in a mountain crevice 
    And still we let the sun 
    Shift on flash and bone his subtle fingers 
    Before his day is run. 
    
      
    
    Comrade, the thrush will never give us warning 
    His singing will not cease--- 
    The bees will hum all down the darkest morning 
    Inveigling us to peace 
    
      
    
    The mountains, yearning forward into silence 
    Have done with shaking; and the stir 
    Of centuries is only a brisk wrinkle 
    There the thunders were. 
    
      
    
    But we, who like to lie here hushed, immobile, 
    Whistling a low bird note 
    Can have no rest from clash of arms behind us 
    And thunder at the throat:  
    
      
    
    Here, though we dream like lizards on a rock-ledge 
    Suckling the sun's breast--- 
    Manhood and growth are on us; rise up, Comrade, 
    It is death to rest.