Britannia
FROM JULES LEMAÎTRE
THY mouth is fresh as cherries on the bough,Red cherries in the dawning, and more whiteThan milk or white camellias is thy brow;And as the golden corn thy hair is bright,The corn that drinks the Sun’s less fair than thou;While through thine eyes the child-soul gazeth now—Eyes like the flower that was Rousseau’s delight.
Sister of sad Ophelia, say, shall theseThy pearly teeth grow like piano keysYellow and long; while thou, all skin and bone,Angles and morals, in a sky-blue veil,Shalt hosts of children to the sermon hale,Blare hymns, read chapters, backbite, and intone?