NOT woman-faced and sweet, as look The angels in the picture-book; But terrible in majesty, More than an army passing by. His hair floats not upon the wind Like theirs, but curled and closely twined; Wrought with his aureole, so that none Shall know the gold curls from the crown. His wings he hath put away in steel, He goes mail-clad from head to heel; Never moon-silver hath outshone His breast-plate or his morion. His brows are like a battlement, Beautiful, brave, and innocent; His eyes with fires of battle burn— On his strong mouth the smile is stern. His horse, the horse of Heaven, goes forth, Bearing him to the South and North, Neighing far off, as one that sees The battle over distances. His fiery sword is never at rest, His foot is in the stirrup prest; Through all the world where wrong is done Michael the Soldier rideth on. Michael, Commander! Angels are That sound the trumpet, and that bear The banners by the Throne, where is The King one nameth on one's knees. Angels there are of peace and prayers, And them that go with wayfarers, And them that watch the house of birth, And them that bring the dead from earth, And mine own Angel. Yet I see, Heading God's army gloriously, Michael Archangel, like a sun, Splendid beyond comparison! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR ONCE, THEN, SOMETHING by ROBERT FROST TWO RIVERS by RALPH WALDO EMERSON LUCIFER IN STARLIGHT by GEORGE MEREDITH THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN by AESOP THE HANDSOME KNIGHT by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II THE BIRDS: THE HYMN OF THE BIRDS by ARISTOPHANES AN EPITAPH ON A DUTCH CAPTAIN by PHILIP AYRES |