O for a tongue of ballots to express my vote of you,
Sibyl, child of the reedy dawn,
Temperate angel of the oratory of light,
Cor anglais in a voting booth,
Kissing babies with your poems,
Collocation of all good votes,
Poll taken by the stars
Who stand elect,
Hearing your politic song.
The worlds heard your debate of fortune,
Knew your two points about the issue of creation:
That the young bud opening is not a pinched blossom,
That all democracies of the soul have come.
And that is your truth, little cor anglais,
Wind’s pitchpipe to capitols and cathedrals,
Sibyl Elected
