A poem by Alan Seeger (1888-1916)

Sidney, in whom the heyday of romance

Came to its precious and most perfect flower,

Whether you tourneyed with victorious lance

Or brought sweet roundelays to Stella’s bower,

I give myself some credit for the way

I have kept clean of what enslaves and lowers,

Shunned the ideals of our present day

And studied those that were esteemed in yours;

For, turning from the mob that buys Success

By sacrificing all Life’s better part,

Down the free roads of human happiness

I frolicked, poor of purse but light of heart,

And lived in strict devotion all along

To my three idols — Love and Arms and Song.

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