Three em-bloodied gold-gilt lions descend
On the silver lilies of far fair France
Grim and red-stained kingswhile her sons defend
The broken land with shriven spear and lance.
The smoking reek of famine, war, and death,
Plague, and wailing cries, and desolation:
Sick landpoor and weary France!gasps for breath
With the diseased and choking nation's desperation.
Drenched afresh in humiliations new:
Of Agincourt, and bloody Henry's fame
Where the proud many fell to England's few
And knighthood's flow'r perish in bitter shame.
The peasant maid sits in a sainted trance;
Arise O Joan! And save belovéd France!