At “The Wearing of the Green,”
Thinking of a loveless bondage, truer trust that might have been.
Sounds of wrathful people seeming
Storming through the “Marseillaise,”
Stirred a land, nigh dead in dreaming,
Through Hortense’s song of praise,
Through its wailing sadness tolling bells of old chivalric days.
Through sad France’s slumber breaking
Germany’s triumphant hymn,
Armed peoples, eager waking,