The Tricolour of France,
Fierce heir of the Standard of Lilies,
Lo, ye, the Corsican bore it
Over the red bridge of Lodi;
Marengo and Austerlitz saw and rose to the pride of its eagles;
Over accursed Sedan it waned and it drooped.
Yet from disgrace, from despair, from contention, defilement,
It rises, the “Marseillaise” sounds; the Emperor lives.
Vivat to France and Napoleon! Vivat to the Flag!
The flag of undaunted Belgium,
Crucified Land of Sorrows,
Your sons shall ascend in glory.
The Mother of God bends down from her throne in Heaven
To weep for the martyred dead whose land shall arise from death.
The flag of the great Free States
With silver stars for their units,
Risen from conflict of blood
Never to sink again.
All is quiet to-night along the Potomac;
The Federal blue, the Confederate grey,
Coalesce in the fabric of history.
Antietam, Gettysburgh, Frederickburg,
The terrible battles of the wilderness.
All these agonies pass;
But the flag, the flag floats on.
Salutation Old Glory!
The flag of the Afric Dutch,
The farmer soldiers,
Fearless riders and trackers,
Dogged in a losing fight,
Tattered men with rifles,
Hailing the tattered Vierkleur:
We, too, hail it and greet it:
Honour the flag!
As long as the red blood runs,
As the red blood courses,
Chant we the chant of the banner,
Sing we the song of the flag.
LES PAPILLONS
BUTTERFLIES carmine-and-white
Wheel into human view.
Out of the womb of the night
Into the town and its light
Butterflies carmine-and-white
Flutter and flicker for you.
Butterflies crimson-and-black,
Splashes of blood on the dark—
What do the winged things lack—
Breaking, perchance, on a rack?
Butterflies crimson-and-black.
Butterflies powdered with gold—
(How should a butterfly sting?)
Butterflies, selling, and sold,
Wheeling and curling behold,
Butterflies powered with gold.
Butterflies bistre-and-blue
(How should a butterfly kiss?)
Sinister wings flitting through
The Pit and its dreadful abyss,
Butterflies bistre-and-blue.