Cecil Edward Chesterton, Poems of the Great War (1914)
“ The usurers robbed, the naked crying "Peace!" And her own feet were caught in nets of gold, And her own soul profaned by sects that squirm, And little men climbed her high seats and sold Her honour to the vulture and the worm. And she seemed broken and they thought her dead, The Over-Men, so brave against the weak. ”
