To the Maid of Orleans

Joan, Joan, can you be
Tending sheep in Domrémy?
Have no voices spoken plain:
France has need of you again?—

You, so many years ago
Welcomed into Heaven, we know
Maiden without spot or taint,
First as foundling, then as saint.

Or do faggot, stake and torch
In your memory roar and scorch
Till no sound of voice comes through
Saying France has need of you?

Joan, Joan, hearken still,
Hearken, child, against your will:
Saint thou art, but at the price
Of recurring sacrifice;

Martyred many times must be
Who would keep his country free.