Lo, Victress on the Peaks

  Lo, Victress on the peaks,
  Where thou with mighty brow regarding the world,
  (The world O Libertad, that vainly conspired against thee,)
  Out of its countless beleaguering toils, after thwarting them all,
  Dominant, with the dazzling sun around thee,
  Flauntest now unharmd in immortal soundness and bloom--lo, in
      these hours supreme,
  No poem proud, I chanting bring to thee, nor masterys rapturous verse,
  But a cluster containing nights darkness and blood-dripping wounds,
  And psalms of the dead.