The Gallic Lark and the Sow-on-the Rhine

The Lark (whirling in the azure):
     I orbit in the suns of my Vision, my heart is the Grail of Life.
     I am France, the Athens of Europe, Dionysiac, singing in strife.

The Sow-On-The-Rhine:
     I am the mother of nations, I am the savior of men,
     I am the Sphinx and Revealer—thou art but a wingèd hen.

The Lark:
     I sing the Song of the Ages, I sing the song of the free,
     I sang in the heart of Ronsard, and the Voice in the Maid was of me!

The Sow-On-The-Rhine:
     Give me your wings and your lightness, give me your dreams and your Eye—
     I hate thee, I love thee, thou wild bird—come down and live in my sty.

The Lark:
     O Sow that would be Alborak! O Sow of Elysian dreams!
     Thy sty is the dung-pit of learning, they snout with Flemish blood gleams.

The Sow-On-The-Rhine:
     Curse thy lilt and thy wild heart, curse the air and the light thou dost cleave!
     Curse the Song thou dost sing to thy Loved Ones, who of thy songs Victory weave!

The Lark:
     I orbit in the suns of my Vision, my heart is a Grail and an Inn;
     My songs have anealed into iron, old Sow with the helmet of tin!