544
The Martyr Poets—did not tell
But wrought their Pang in syllable
That when their mortal name be numb
Their mortal fate—encourage Some
The Martyr Painters—never spoke
Bequeathing—rather—to their Work
That when their conscious fingers cease
Some seek in Art—the Art of Peace
The Martyr Poets—did not tell
But wrought their Pang in syllable
That when their mortal name be numb
Their mortal fate—encourage Some
The Martyr Painters—never spoke
Bequeathing—rather—to their Work
That when their conscious fingers cease
Some seek in Art—the Art of Peace
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