Saint Joan
There is every evidence of an increasing interest in ATLANTIC poetry. Is an incentive for writers yet unestablished. twice a year ice set aside a number of pages in the ATLANTIC to be devoted to the work of young poets.
BY ROBERT NYE
A thing in the form of a woman,
By name of the Pucelle,
Was burned by the soldiers at Rouen
After a proper trial.
She was a relapsed heretic
And excommunicate catholic,
Apostate, idolatress,
Divineress and sorceress;
A devil from Lorraine
Whence devils come
In the dress of women,
As everyone knows.
By name of the Pucelle,
Was burned by the soldiers at Rouen
After a proper trial.
She was a relapsed heretic
And excommunicate catholic,
Apostate, idolatress,
Divineress and sorceress;
A devil from Lorraine
Whence devils come
In the dress of women,
As everyone knows.
At Orleans’ siege
She blessed and was blessed
In the name of the fiend
That is Messire;
She blessed and was blessed
In the name of the fiend
That is Messire;
A virgin yet
By cruel desire
A virgin whore
Whom men died for
And she forgot,
Suckling Messire
At her left breast
On their red wounds.
By cruel desire
A virgin whore
Whom men died for
And she forgot,
Suckling Messire
At her left breast
On their red wounds.
Together they seemed
The siege of Orleans,
The devil and she.
That may as be
No needy crown,
Devil nor down.
Rainy or kiss
Pucelle is this
Orleans we are
At peace in war:
For I have served a devil well
And shall I serve you ill?
The siege of Orleans,
The devil and she.
That may as be
No needy crown,
Devil nor down.
Rainy or kiss
Pucelle is this
Orleans we are
At peace in war:
For I have served a devil well
And shall I serve you ill?