CHARLOTTE CORDAY; A MEMOIR OF A HAND by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER

A child's small hand, lost in her father's - twined
In springtide round the stems of earliest flowers,
Which she had found in fields and orchard-bowers,
With earnest eyes, that best deserve to find;
A woman's hand - whose pulses ever glowed
With eager purpose, running bolder blood
Than childhood's; though the loving teardrops flowed
Whene'er she clasped in dreams her country's good:
An armed hand! fresh from the stricken throat
Of that fierce homicide, whose rage of heart
Woke counter-rage, that came and saw and smote;
Ah! maiden's hand! blood-stained at last! thou art
The very symbol of the unnatural time
When Norman Charlotte dared her noble crime.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!

Other Poems of Interest...