Gather the iron-bosomed brood of war,
Like new Stymphalian birds, whose claws and wings
The warrior welcomes and the poet sings.
Oh, gentle Peace, how strange in our strange day.
Thy mailèd retinue, thine armed array!
Those flower-deck'd obelisks, that silken rope,—
Bright illustrations of the Tales of Hope,—
The royal speeches and the loyal cheers,
Disguise misgivings as they silence fears.
But Denmark's memories, and the thoughts of France,