The Past Is Not Dead, It Is

In Prison Wearily, Drearily, Half The Day Long, Flap The Great Banners High Over The Stone; Strangely And Eerily Sounds The Wind's Song, Bending The Banner-poles. While, All Alone, Watching The Loophole's Spark, Lie I, With Life All Dark, Feet Tethered, Hands Fettered Fast To The Stone, The Grim Walls, Square Lettered With Prisoned Men's Groan. Still Strain The Banner-poles Through The Wind's Song, Westward The Banner Rolls Over My Wrong.

By God! I Will Not Tell You More To-day, Judge Any Way You Will - What Matters It?

Mastership Hath Many Shifts Whereby It Striveth To Keep Itself Alive In The World. And Now Hear A Marvel: Whereas Thou Sayest These Two Times That Out Of One Man Ye May Get But One Man's Work, In Days To Come One Man Shall Do The Work Of A Hundred Men - Yea, Of A Thousand Or More: And This Is The Shift Of Mastership That Shall Make Many Masters And Many Rich Men.

What I Mean By Socialism Is A Condition Of Society In Which There Should Be Neither Rich Nor Poor, Neither Master Nor Master's Man, Neither Idle Nor Overworked, Neither Brain­slack Brain Workers, Nor Heart­sick Hand Workers, In A Word, In Which All Men Would Be Living In Equality Of Condition, And Would Manage Their Affairs Unwastefully, And With The Full Consciousness That Harm To One Would Mean Harm To All - The Realisation At Last Of The Meaning Of The Word 'commonwealth.'

Not On One Strand Are All Life's Jewels Strung.