POEM: FRANCE
_ _Broke to every known mischance, lifted over all
By the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul,
Furious in luxury, merciless in toil,
Terrible with strength that draws from her tireless soil,
Strictest judge of her own worth, gentlest of men‘s mind,
First to follow truth and last to leave old truths behind--
France beloved of every soul that loves its fellow-kind._
Ere our birth (rememberest thou?) side by side we lay
Fretting in the womb of Rome to begin the fray.
Ere men knew our tongues apart, our one taste was known--
Each must mould the other‘s fate as he wrought his own.
To this end we stirred mankind till all earth was ours,
Till our world-end strifes began wayside thrones and powers,
Puppets that we made or broke to bar the other‘s path--
Necessary, outpost folk, hirelings of our wrath.
To this end we stormed the seas, tack for tack, and burst
Through the doorways of new worlds, doubtful which was first.
Hand on hilt (rememberest

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