Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/238

 TO THE WINGLESS VICTORY

A Prayer

victory, whose shrine

By the Parthenon

Glorified our youth divine,

Harken!—they are gone,

The young eagles of our nest,

They, the brightest, bravest, best,

They are flown!

Lilies of France,

When first they flew,

Led their lone advance

Great heaven through.

Now soar they, brood on brood,

Like stars for multitude,

To France! France!

Save thou the golden flight

That wakes the morn,

And dares the azure height,

The tempest's scorn!

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