La Pucelle

She walks the azure meadows where the stars Shed glowing petals on her moon-white feet, The planets sing to see her, and to greet Her, nebulae unfold like nenuphars. No dread eclipse the morn of Heaven mars But fades before her fearing, lest she meet With darkness, while the reckless comets beat A path of gold with flickering scimitars. The battle-ranks of Heaven are marching past Squadron by squadron, battalion, and brigade, Both horse and foot—Soundless their swift parade, Silent till she appears—then quick they cast Upon the wind the banner of the Maid, And Heaven rocks with Gabriel’s trumpet-blast.