The Furies born of night and tumult mar France, and her strong impassioned children are Broken, and blind, and bleeding through despair: Yet lo! amid the darkness wild, a Star. The hair of it is as a woman's hair; The light of it is bright and passing fair: Lo! in the dark the swift flash of a sword: Hark! a sweet voice that cries aloud: 'I dare! 'I dare to break your idol o'er-adored, O Poor of France; I dare to smite your lord. I, slaying him, have set your millions free! Take vengeance—let me also die abhorred. 'He being dead to whom you bowed the knee, Your eyesight shall be purgéd; you shall see To walk when I, the murderess, am sped: Yes, you shall live through loss of him and me.' Hail! riding by in robe of flamelike red! Hail! lift on high thy young dishevelled head. To men's derision pay not any heed, But take thou precedence amid the dead. To them who loved thee Death shall be for meed; They too shall follow where thy bright steps lead. From convent unto scaffold pass, beloved, And know this well that Time shall praise thy Deed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MY CLASS: ON CERTAIN FRUITS AND FLOWERS SENT ... SICKNESS by SIDNEY LANIER THE STARLING; SONNET by AMY LOWELL THE BLACK RIDERS: 1 by STEPHEN CRANE COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY by HERMAN MELVILLE THE LUTE OBEYS by THOMAS WYATT |