The sword, the sword is made keen; the iron has opened its mouth; The corn is red that was green; it is bound for the sheaves of the south. The sound of a word was shed, the sound of the wind as a breath, In the ears of the souls that were dead, in the dust of the deepness of death; Where the face of the moon is taken, the ways of the stars undone, The light of the whole sky shaken, the light of the face of the sun: Where the waters are emptied and broken, the waves of the waters are stayed; Where God has bound for a token the darkness that maketh afraid; Where the sword was covered and hidden, and dust had grown in its side, A word came forth which was bidden, the crying of one that cried: The sides of the two-edged sword shall be bare, and its mouth shall be red, For the breath of the face of the Lord that is felt in the bones of the dead. TO VICTOR HUGO In the fair days when God By man as godlike trod, And each alike was Greek, alike was free, God's lightning spared, they said, Alone the happier head Whose laurels screened it; fruitless grace for thee, To whom the high gods gave of right Their thunders and their laurels and their light. Sunbeams and bays before Our master's servants wore, For these Apollo left in all men's lands; But far from these ere now And watched with jealous brow Lay the blind lightnings shut between God's hands, And only loosed on slaves and kings The terror of the tempest of their wings. Born in those younger years That shone with storms of spears And shook in the wind blown from a dead world's pyre, When by her back-blown hair Napoleon caught the fair And fierce Republic with her feet of fire, And stayed with iron words and hands Her flight, and freedom in a thousand lands: Thou sawest the tides of things Close over heads of kings, And thine hand felt the thunder, and to thee Laurels and lightnings were As sunbeams and soft air Mixed each in other, or as mist with sea Mixed, or as memory with desire, Or the lute's pulses with the louder lyre. For thee man's spirit stood Disrobed of flesh and blood, And bare the heart of the most secret hours; And to thine hand more tame Than birds in winter came High hopes and unknown flying forms of powers, And from thy table fed, and sang Till with the tune men's ears took fire and rang. Even all men's eyes and ears With fiery sound and tears Waxed hot, and cheeks caught flame and eyelid light, At those high songs of thine That stung the sense like wine, Or fell more soft than dew or snow by night, Or wailed as in some flooded cave Sobs the strong broken spirit of a wave.