If we roused the peoples and made the continents quake,
...began to make everything anew with these dirty old stones,
these tired hands, and the meager souls that were left us,
it was not in order to haggle with you now,
sad revolution, our mother, our child, our flesh,
our decapitated dawn, our night with its stars askew...
(Since I don't read poetry, and this WAS in translation, there no point in trying to rank this. If anyone has a link
to the French, I'd love to compare them. At any rate, some good writing here)