France

 She triumphs, in the vivid green 
Where sun and quivering foliage meet; 
And in each soldier’s heart serene; 
When death stood near them they have seen 
The radiant forests where her feet 
Move on a breeze of silver sheen. 

And they are fortunate, who fight 
For gleaming landscapes swept and shafted 
And crowned by cloud pavilions white; 
Hearing such harmonies as might
Only from Heaven be downward wafted— 
Voices of victory and delight.

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