X
The Sixth Sword
FROM that Toledo of the brain
where none but perfect steel is wrought,
of all its cities thronged with thought
that soars the farthest from the plain>
clear lightning with a sheath of gold,
a scarlet tassel at the hilt,
a blade the noonday sun to jilt
and sparkle in a cherub's hold,
forged only of the living rays
of whom its lustre is the praise,
the sixth salutes with lifted blade
the passing oriflammes of days
to whose white-mounted cavalcade
the red blood drums the Marseillaise.
[a6]