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MY COUNTRY Those who say my country means Meadows, flowers and fields of wheat, Hamlets and trenches, must confess These are her feet. The child is not forced from his mother's arms, The youth at her side will grow While she leans on her eldest son, These are my laws. My country's brow has not risen here; My flesh's beyond Euphrates and the Flood, My spirit soars above Chaos, I pay rent to the world. No nation fashioned or saved me, I recall eternity's span : David's key unlocked my lips, Rome called me man. I fall on the sand to wipe with my hair My country's blood-stained feet, But I know her face and crown Radiant like the sun of suns. My ancestors have known no other; Her feet with my hand I used to feel; I often kissed the clumsy sandal strap Round her heel. They needn't teach me where my country lies; Hamlets, trenches and fields of wheat, Flesh and blood and this her scar Are her print, her feet. Paris, January 1861 |