<h3> <SPAN name="france"></SPAN> TO FRANCE </h3>
<p class="t3">
(May Day, 1919)</p>
<p class="poem">
Mother of revolutions, stern and sweet,<br/>
Thou of the red Commune's heroic days;<br/>
Unsheathe thy sword, let thy pent lightning blaze<br/>
Until these new bastiles fall at thy feet.<br/>
Once more thy sons march down the ancient street<br/>
Led by pale men from silent Pere la Chaise;<br/>
Once more La Carmignole—La Marseillaise<br/>
Blend with the war drum's quick and angry beat.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
Ah, France—our—France—must they again endure<br/>
The crown of thorns upon the cross of death?<br/>
Is morning here . . .? Then speak that we may know!<br/>
The sky seems lighter but we are not sure.<br/>
Is morning here . . .? The whole world holds its breath<br/>
To hear the crimson Gallic rooster crow!<br/></p>
<p><br/><br/><br/></p>
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