Nor hissing spray that flies,
But his cold old glance plays
Along the level of our eyes.

"I don't see very many tears," he says.

Lo, in a thousand citadels
Through the world from east to west,
Slim, tall bayonets upraised:
Silver lightning shafts at rest!

You, who in your eager hands
Held the strands of destiny,
Tireless as Penelope
Wove your web across the sea—

Lay your gleaming weapons down,
Silver, steel and ivory—
Bind them with a laurel wreath—
Theirs...and yours...the victory!