Saint Denys of France

Mine eyes were fierce with fever; I was lord of the sleepless
land

Where the foot sticks to the stirrup and the sword-hilt to the
hand,

A torment of banners tossing when no wind blows

Of the men that have made all marvels, except repose

On the East and the West gate graven our name was
Victory;

We took all nations captive that we might set them free;
We could not endure the endurance of all slaves under the
sun;

We spat at them rights and riches, out of a gun.

Mother, if hell came after and the world laid waste for a
word,

If some of our blows fell upon thee, if some blows erred,
It fell of a fury of justice that fell from thee -

Lo, we have freed all peoples. Oh, set us free!