Classic Poem

It may be that the future holds for France
In spite of gloom and languor and decay
The golden glory of a dawn of day,
An untouched fair superb inheritance.
It may be that her restless eyes shall glance
On flowers immortal, when in bloomless grey
Regions our English yearnings fade away
While death's cold waves inexorably advance.

If this be so, the truth is plain to see.
Through errors deadly, sins of lying and lust,
France, proudly faithful to a mighty trust,
Has held that God and beauty of form are one.
For this her faith she deathless, it may be,
Shall shame the starlight and surpass the sun.