La Pucelle
She walks the azure meadows where the stars
Shed glowing petals on her moon-white feet,
The planets sing to see her, and to greet
Her, nebulae unfold like nenuphars.
No dread eclipse the morn of Heaven mars
But fades before her fearing, lest she meet
With darkness, while the reckless comets beat
A path of gold with flickering scimitars.
The battle-ranks of Heaven are marching past
Squadron by squadron, battalion, and brigade,
Both horse and foot—Soundless their swift parade,
Silent till she appears—then quick they cast
Upon the wind the banner of the Maid,
And Heaven rocks with Gabriel’s trumpet-blast.
