Anarchism.

'Tis not when I am here,
    In these homeless homes,
Where sin and shame and disease
    And foul death comes;

'Tis not when heart and brain
    Would be still and forget
Men and women and children
    Dragged down to the pit:

But when I hear them declaiming
    Of "liberty," "order," and "law,"
The husk-hearted gentleman
    And the mud-hearted bourgeois,

That a sombre hateful desire
    Burns up slow in my breast
To wreck the great guilty temple,
    And give us rest!