Hearken, the feet of the Destroyer tread The wine-press of the nations; fast the blood Pours from the side of Europe; in full flood On the Septentrional watershed The rivers of fair France are running red! England, the mother-eyrie of our brood, That on the summit of dominion stood, Shakes in the blast: heaven battles overhead! Lift up thy head, O Rheims, of ages heir That treasured up in thee their glorious sum; Upon whose brow, prophetically fair, Flamed the great morrow of the world to come; Haunt with thy beauty this volcanic air Ere yet thou close, O Flower of Christendom! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PLANKED WHITEFISH by CARL SANDBURG LINES WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS by MATTHEW ARNOLD SUMMER WIND by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ELEGY: 3. CHANGE by JOHN DONNE EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: A DEAD STATESMAN by RUDYARD KIPLING THE ARTILLERYMAN'S VISION by WALT WHITMAN |