IV
They have taken the hoods off the street-lamps in Paris!
They have set darkness aside.
Like a beautiful woman awakened from hideous dreams,
She issues forth again, in light, in loveliness,
Her shapes and contours flow upon the air
With that hard delicacy which is Gaul—
And following the long gestures of her body
Coils her green river, which she binds to her
With a frozen grace of bridges...
I see a great crowd filling the court of the Invalides—
They are putting fresh flowers on the hood of the eagle that Guynemer flew...
(Death's but a pillow for the head of fame!)
There looms the proud, prophetic Arch; nor ever has bestrode
Such triumph as will roll beneath it now!
(A brief month hence through this same Gate of Conquerors will pass
One from the West, with a plan for everlasting peace in the pocket of his frock-coat;
