THE fourteenth of July had come, And round the guillotine The thieves and beggars, rank by rank, Moved the red flags between. A crimson heart, upon a pole, -- The long march had begun; But still the little smiling child Sat knitting in the sun. The red caps of those men of France Shook like a poppy-field; Three women's heads, with gory hair, The standard-bearers wield. Cursing, with song and battle-hymn, Five butchers dragged a gun; Yet still the little maid sat there, A-knitting in the sun. An axe was painted on the flags, A broken throne and crown, A ragged coat upon a lance, Hung in foul black shreds down. "More heads!" the seething rabble cry, And now the drum's begun; But still the little fair-haired child Sat knitting in the sun. And every time a head rolled off, They roll like winter seas, And, with a tossing up of caps, Shouts shook the Tuileries. Whizz -- went the heavy chopper down, And then the drums begun; But still the little smiling child Sat knitting in the sun. The Jacobins, ten thousand strong, And every man a sword; The red caps, with the tricolors, Led on the noisy horde. "The @3Sans Culottes@1 to-day are strong," The gossips say, and run; But still the little maid sits there A knitting in the sun. Then the slow death-cart moved along; And, singing patriot songs, A pale, doomed poet bowing comes And cheers the swaying throng. O when the axe swept shining down, The mad drums all begun; But, smiling still, the little child Sat knitting in the sun. "Le Marquis'" -- linen snowy white, The powder in his hair, Waving his scented handkerchief, Looks down with careless stare. A whirr, a chop -- another head -- Hurrah! the work's begun; But still the little child sat there A-knitting in the sun. A stir, and through the parting crowd, The people's friends are come; Marat and Robespierre -- "Vivat! Roll thunder from the drum." The one, a wild beast's hungry eye, Hair tangled -- hark! a gun! The other kindly kissed the child A-knitting in the sun. "And why not work all night?" the child Said, to the knitters there; O how the furies shook their sides, And tossed their grizzled hair! Then clapped a @3bonnet rouge@1 on her, And cried -- "'Tis well begun!" And laughed to see the little child Knit, smiling, in the sun. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SORROW by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DAISY FRASER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE LITTLE GHOST by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 90. 'RETRO ME, SATHANA!' by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE DEATH OF A FRIEND by LEVI BISHOP |