Victory comes: Not hard and laughing as she came of yore, Her scarlet arms heaped high with spoils of war; Her slaves, to beating drums, Low-bent and bearing gifts. ... The black cloud lifts, And, lifting our long-weary eyes to see, There dawns upon our sight, Majestic, crowned with light, Stern and so quiet—she must keep her strength To build at weary length, Over again, our scarred and shattered world— This, then, ah, this is she, Our graver Victory. She follows down the furrows War turned across the world, Where still the spent shell burrows, Where the black shot was hurled, And sows the wheat and corn. The world, from anguish born Again from its old grief, Looks up, athirst And hungering, Daring to dream again Of flowers unhurt, and unstained rain And love and spring: Knowing that she shall build each place accurst Into a thing that may some day again Be our once land of comfort and delight, Of ease and mockery. ... Even forgetfulness: Even the gift to bless. Victory paces slowly through the lands: No lash is in her hands, She builds herself no triumph-arch for cover, No common marble toy— She is too great for joy. She who upbuilds Each little shattered home And brings men back to it: and lover gives to lover, And to the shattered soul its faith again, And to the world continuance of God— How should our praise for her In high crowned buildings stand—oh, how be pent In built or written thing? The stable world itself is her great monument! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER TU FU (THEY SAY YOU'RE STAYING IN A MOUNTAIN TEMPLE) by MARVIN BELL CAESAR'S LOST TRANSPORT SHIPS by ROBERT FROST FINALITY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TWO POEMS FROM THE WAR: 2 by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH A MAN CHILD IS BORN (1839) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |