II.
"TO-DAY FOR ME."
She sitteth still who used to dance, She weepeth sore and more and more-- Let us sit with thee weeping sore, O fair France!
She trembleth as the days advance Who used to be so light of heart:-- We in thy trembling bear a part, Sister France!
Her eyes shine tearful as they glance: "Who shall give back my slaughtered sons? "Bind up," she saith, "my wounded ones."-- Alas, France!
She struggles in a deathly trance, As in a dream her pulses stir, She hears the nations calling her, "France, France, France!"
Thou people of the lifted lance, Forbear her tears, forbear her blood: Roll back, roll back, thy whelming flood, Back from France.
Eye not her loveliness askance, Forge not for her a galling chain; Leave her at peace to bloom again, Vine-clad France.
A time there is for change and chance, A time for passing of the cup: And One abides can yet bind up Broken France.
A time there is for change and chance: Who next shall drink the trembling cup, Wring out its dregs and suck them up After France?