In Iceland did Julian Assange
A stateless network dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred server, ran
Through gigaflops measureless to man
Down to a sunless C++.
So twice five miles of Cat5 cable
The walls and towers were girdled round:
And here were rackmounts bright with sinuous cables
Where blossomed many an intense decision tree;
And here were keyboards ancient as the hills,
Enfolding Sun sparcstations galore.
But oh! that deep dark stateless network slanted
Hidden under view athwart the system!
A peaceful place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath Guy Fawkes mask was haunted
By person seeking transparency now!
And from this darknet, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this Earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced;
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge documents vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing truths at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred server.
Five million files with a mazy motion
Through truth and detail the sacred server ran,
Then reached the knowledge measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless media:
And 'mid this tumult Julian heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of network
Told truths on the airwaves:
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the DoD and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny network-dome with truths of ICE!
A damsel with an onion router
In a vision once I saw:
It was an American maid,
And on her router she played,
Singing of Fort Leavenworth.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 't would win me
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.