Gloria Mundi
Yet, dragged reluctant from these ransomed shores,
Upon her tide, that sullenly and slow Creeps channelward, the unapparent scores
Of history's spectres disregarded go ; And as the Empress City gains the seat
Of that imperial throne to which at last By devious ways she comes, beneath her feet
The Seine in silence blots away the past.
Blots out the warning of cathedral bells,
The night of snowy scarfs, of swords, of staves, The muffled bass of tumbril wheels that tells
Of mortal men that dig immortal graves ; Blots out the faces, calmly unafraid,
Of prince and peasant, courtesan and queen, When men made martyrs and were martyrs made,
When France meant Hell and God meant Guillotine!
Like pilgrims whom a holy city calls, The peoples bring their miracles to her;
The world of peace lays down within her walls Its gifts of gold, and frankincense, and myrrh :
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