by Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)
Not that I love thy children, whose dull eyes See nothing save their own unlovely woe, Whose minds know nothing, nothing care to know, -- But that the roar of thy Democracies, Thy reigns of Terror, thy great Anarchies, Mirror my wildest passions like the sea, -- And give my rage a brother -- ! Liberty! For this sake only do my dissonant cries Delight my discreet soul, else might all kings By bloody knout or treacherous cannonades Rob nations of their rights inviolate And I remain unmoved -- and yet, and yet, These Christs that die on the barricades, God knows it I am with them, in some things.
Robin's Nest 