Two Nations | Page 2

distent Thee fouler eagles
rent; Because a serpent stains with slime and foam This that is not thy
Rome; Child of my womb, whose limbs were made in me, Have I
forgotten thee? In all thy dreams through all these years on wing, Hast
thou dreamed such a thing? The mortal mother-bird outsoars her nest,
The child outgrows the breast; But suns as stars shall fall from heaven

and cease, Ere we twain be as these; Yea, utmost skies forget their
utmost sun, Ere we twain be not one. My lesser jewels sewn on skirt
and hem, I have no heed of them Obscured and flawed by sloth or craft
or power; But thou, that wast my flower, The blossom bound between
my brows and worn In sight of even and morn From the last ember of
the flameless west To the dawn's baring breast-- I were not Freedom if
thou wert not free, Nor thou wert Italy. O mystic rose ingrained with
blood, impearled With tears of all the world! The torpor of their blind
brute-ridden trance Kills England and chills France; And Spain sobs
hard through strangling blood; and snows Hide the huge eastern woes.
But thou, twin-born with morning, nursed of noon, And blessed of star
and moon! What shall avail to assail thee any more, From sacred shore
to shore? Have Time and Love not knelt down at thy feet, Thy sore, thy
soiled, thy sweet, Fresh from the flints and mire of murderous ways
And dust of travelling days? Hath Time not kissed them, Love not
washed them fair, And wiped with tears and hair? Though God forget
thee, I will not forget; Though heaven and earth be set Against thee, O
unconquerable child, Abused, abased, reviled, Lift thou not less from
no funereal bed Thine undishonoured head; Love thou not less, by lips
of thine once prest, This my now barren breast; Seek thou not less,
being well assured thereof, O child, my latest love. For now the barren
bosom shall bear fruit, Songs leap from lips long mute, And with my
milk the mouths of nations fed Again be glad and red That were worn
white with hunger and sorrow and thirst; And thou, most fair and first,
Thou whose warm hands and sweet live lips I feel Upon me for a seal,
Thou whose least looks, whose smiles and little sighs, Whose
passionate pure eyes, Whose dear fair limbs that neither bonds could
bruise Nor hate of men misuse, Whose flower-like breath and bosom, O
my child, O mine and undefiled, Fill with such tears as burn like bitter
wine These mother's eyes of mine, Thrill with huge passions and
primeval pains The fullness of my veins, O sweetest head seen higher
than any stands, I touch thee with mine hands, I lay my lips upon thee,
O thou most sweet, To lift thee on thy feet And with the fire of mine to
fill thine eyes; I say unto thee, Arise."
§ She ceased, and heaven was full of flame and sound, And earth's old
limbs unbound Shone and waxed warm with fiery dew and seed Shed
through her at this her need: And highest in heaven, a mother and full

of grace, With no more covered face, With no more lifted hands and
bended knees, Rose, as from sacred seas Love, when old time was full
of plenteous springs, That fairest-born of things, The land that holds the
rest in tender thrall For love's sake in them all, That binds with words
and holds with eyes and hands All hearts in all men's lands. So died the
dream whence rose the live desire That here takes form and fire, A
spirit from the splendid grave of sleep Risen, that ye should not weep,
Should not weep more nor ever, O ye that hear And ever have held her
dear, Seeing now indeed she weeps not who wept sore, And sleeps not
any more. Hearken ye towards her, O people, exalt your eyes; Is this a
thing that dies?
§ Italia! by the passion of the pain That bent and rent thy chain; Italia!
by the breaking of the bands, The shaking of the lands; Beloved, O
men's mother, O men's queen, Arise, appear, be seen! Arise, array
thyself in manifold Queen's raiment of wrought gold; With girdles of
green freedom, and with red Roses, and white snow shed Above the
flush and frondage of the hills That all thy deep dawn fills And all thy
clear night veils and warms with wings Spread till the morning sings;
The rose of resurrection, and the bright Breast lavish of the light, The
lady lily like the snowy sky Ere the stars wholly die; As red as blood,
and whiter than a wave, Flowers grown