  Are they blind, the lords of Gaza, That each his fellow urges “Samson the proud is pillow-smothered,” They raise mock dirges? Philistines and dullards, Turn, look with amaze At my foxes running in your cornfields With their tails ablaze, At bloody jawbone, at bees flitting From the stark lion’s hide: At these, the gates of well-walled Gaza, Clanking to my stride. |
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