So they could do it after all! ...
They locked him up ... the good old man ...
Behind the grated window and the wall ...
Stole in upon his sick-bed ... whisked him off
Before the rumor and the wrath began ...
Without one woodland flower of early spring
Pressed to his big palm by some workman's child.

And said the honest warden, welcoming:
" You're rather rangy, Mr. Debs, and tall " ...
Embarrassed by a momentary cough ...
" But we will fit you out as best we can " ...
And the great Proletarian
He straightened up and smiled.

Ten years ... so let it be ... he was not wise ...
Well shut he would not ... could not ... keep
Those lips, close-shorn and thin,
Below those keen, unflinching eyes,
And just above the unbearded fighting chin ...
Those lips with furrows either side, so deep
From mirth and sorrow and unresting sleep ...
And so they deemed it fit
He learn (like Jeremiah) silence in a pit.

So let it be ... a state must have firm laws
And watchful citizens that balk
Against a wagging tongue ...
And one grown gray and gaunt with too much talk,
Who has long since forgotten when to pause,
Or how to please,
May trip at last — even in democracies ...
And, chiefly, if he tamper with the young,
And worship not the old divinities ...
And when the charge is read him, clause by clause,
And he replies with scanty penitence,
He'll find (as found that worthy man
At whose incessant lips once Athens took offense)
The gentry of his latter audience
Most ominously niggard of applause ...
And though even then he talk ... as talk he can ...
He lights (like Socrates) on no defense —
Except reiteration of his cause.

So be it ... his was fair trial and due appeal
Under those just, majestic guarantees
That give the Stars and Stripes their destinies
Over a free (but ordered) commonweal!
That incorruptible and austere court
Of old men to this old man made report:
They made report, this row of staunch patricians,
Unto the bald lone tall man of the plebs;
They bore no grudge, they took no gold,
They may have loved him — for they too were old;
But, seated in their ancient nine positions,
They sealed the prison sunset-years for Debs —
As vindicators of those stern traditions
That tore from black Dred Scott his freeman's shirt,
And locked free child in factory dark and dirt.

So let it be ... there's nothing for surprise ...
The thing's so old ... so wearisomely grim ...
Nothing for grief ... except the shame ...
Grieve for the nation, not for him ...
For he has but begun his enterprise,
And in this silence finds the lips of flame.