Gods, what a moral! Yet in vain I jest. <br />The France which has been, and shall be again, <br />Is the most serious, and perhaps the best, <br />Of all the nations which have power with men. <br />France only of the nations has this plain <br />Thought in the world, to scorn hypocrisy, <br />And by this token she shall purge the stain <br />Of her sins yet, though these as scarlet be. <br />Let her put off her folly! 'Tis a cloak <br />Which hides her virtue. Let her foremost stand, <br />The champion of all necks which feel the yoke, <br />As once she stood sublime in every land. <br />Let her forgo her Tonquins, and make good <br />Her boast to man, of man's high brotherhood!<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-new-pilgrimage-sonnet-xvi/
