Six centuries have passed. The yellow brand
On shoulder nor on soul has left a sign,
And on our brows must Edward’s England twine
Her civic laurels with an equal hand.
Thick-clustered stars of fierce supremacy
Upon the martial breast of England glance!
She seems of War the very Deity.
Could aught remain her glory to enhance?
Yea, for I count her noblest victory
Her triumph o’er her own intolerance.