Do you hear the people sing
Out of the huts of history’s shame?
The men and women I saw were all near to me;
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn.
Still-born, they don’t always die:
Martyrs never regret.
He stood for a minute alone on the balcony.
The darkness drops again; but now I know.
But he grew old — This knight so bold —
The only thing that change is the price of gold.