For this -- for love of all our freedom brings,
The roll of drums, the eager, hurrying feet!
I hear the straining flags that toss and beat
Above the brazen-throated welcomings.
Not of this hour alone the love that springs
Full-blown at birth, along the surging street!
Ages have gone to make the thing we greet
In him -- the clear-eyed son of conquering kings.
Britain is breathing here! Her breath is blown
Far back through each long, time-enshrouded year.
I hear the marching feet, of liberty,
Their shouts that rocked Carnarvon's rugged stone.
And high above the clamorous crowd I hear
The shrill crescendo of triumphant sea!
First published in The Argus, 5 June 1920
