Belgium

I had a dream of Greatness; and I saw— Not one enthroned, before whose golden crown And jeweled scepter many bowed them down;

Not one full-armored who, more fearful awe Inspiring, with war's pestilential breath Sowed havoc as he moved, despair and death;

Nay, in my lofty dream, such greatness paled Before the image of one nobly fair, Despite torn raiment and disheveled hair,

The hope within whose eyes had never failed. Victim of unrelenting Tyranny That fain would hold her captive, she is free—

Stronger, I wis, than e'en her tyrants be— Because of something that hath never died: Her glorious, tameless soul, grief-crucified!