The whiteness of the lily once was thine, O little maid, who watched Domremy's sheep -- Thy converse with the saints, whose words occult Thou, like Another, in thy heart didst keep. And thine the whiteness of the cleaving sword, So blinding pure from out earth's blood-shedding, When, in the gloom of Rheims' imperial shrine, Thy lord of France was hallowed into King. But now, more ardent whiteness wraps thee round, O martyr-saint, rejected and betrayed. . . . The sacrificial whiteness of the flame Is thine -- swift-soaring, unafraid! The smoke is ours; its shame, its blindness, too, The tears of the way thou valiantly hast trod; But thou, white warrior maid, on high art raised, A votive taper between us and God! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JACOBITE'S TOAST (TO AN OFFICER IN THE ARMY) by JOHN BYROM ON BEING BROUGHT FROM AFRICA TO AMERICA by PHILLIS WHEATLEY THE NATURAL FIRE by CLIFFORD ALLEN AN EVOCATION by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 25 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |