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To The Bartholdi Statue

O Liberty,

God-gifted—     Young and immortal maid—   In your high hand uplifted,     The torch declares your trade.   Its crimson menace, flaming     Upon the sea and shore,   Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming     That Law shall be no more.   Austere incendiary,    We're blinking in the light;  Where is your customary    Grenade of dynamite?  Where are your staves and switches    For men of gentle birth?  Your mask and dirk for riches?    Your chains for wit and worth?  Perhaps, you've brought the halters    You used in the old days,  When round religion's altars    You stabled Cromwell's bays?  Behind you, unsuspected,    Have you the axe, fair wench,  Wherewith you once collected    A poll-tax for the French?  America salutes you—    Preparing to "disgorge."  Take everything that suits you,    And marry Henry George.

Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.

The lyrical form of this poem is abab.1.

In 1886 Fré;dé;ric-Auguste Bartholdi'sstatue of Liberty--entitled \

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Ambrose Bierce

Ambrose Gwinnett Bierce (June 24, 1842– circa 1914) was an American short story writer, journalist, poet, and Civil War veteran. His book The De…

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