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The Gentle Anarchist
I am a gentle Anarchist,
I couldn't kick a dog,
Nor ever would for sport assist
To pelt the helpless frog.
I'd shoot a Czar, or wreck a train,
Blow Parliament sky-high,
But none could call me inhumane;
I wouldn't hurt a fly.
I wouldn't hurt a fly,
And why indeed should I?
It has neither land nor pelf
That I covet for myself,
Then wherefore should I hurt a fly?
I am a gentle Anarchist,
I live on herbs and fruits;
It don't become a communist
To eat his fellow-brutes.
I'd fire a town, upset a state,
Make countless widows weep,
Yet I am so compassionate
I wouldn't kill a sheep,
I wouldn't hurt a fly;
And why indeed should I?
If it doesn't interfere
With my personal career,
Why the dickens should I hurt a fly?
I'm such a gentle Anarchist
I hate all hunting men;
I couldn't hook a fish, or twist
The neck of cock or hen.
I'd level gaols, let scoundrels loose,
Blow priests and churches up—
But, oh, my pity's so profuse
I couldn't drown a pup.
I wouldn't hurt a fly;
And why indeed should I?
Unless, that is to say,
I found it in my way,
And then it's all up with the fly.
poem
by
James Brunton Stephens
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