Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, IN ANDELYS: LONG LIVE THE SKIES OF NORMANDY: 22, by PAUL FORT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IN ANDELYS: LONG LIVE THE SKIES OF NORMANDY: 22, by                    
First Line: Let us sing, to end our lay, normandy's azure skies, fairest the king
Last Line: Form, skies, great skies, dappled o'er, rain cider on my head!
Subject(s): Normandy, France; Singing & Singers; Songs


Let us sing, to end our lay, Normandy's azure skies, fairest the Kingdom knows,
or the Republic rather, so well contrived to cover both hell and paradise,
comprised of coal, of blue, and of seraphic grey.

In missals I have conned such heavens have smiled on me, arching above the
broils of angels and of fiends, in the world's primal days, or flashing from the
high cathedral's jewelled panes in legends of Marie, Clotilde, or Radegonde.

To abase the dragon proud, Saint Michael plunges thence. There the mild virgin
sways a Christ, on slender knees. Skies, ever dappled o'er, where, black, the
Demon plays on the checker-board of cloud all the good saints of France

'gainst God, who, as his use is, betting his trusting flocks on the virtues of
his saints, above the harvests, loses! And fierce the thunder shocks, wind
howls, and lightning rends. The hail, in Normandy, intimidates the fowls.

Skies, to exorcise the soul of which I'm the hydra dread, from your pious
reservoirs pour holy water down, or, better, if you fear some hole would hide my
form, skies, great skies, dappled o'er, rain cider on my head!





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