Quotes about flag, page 100
Unfit
With younger men he takes his stand,
To the recruiting-sergeant nigh,
Sees others chosen: lifts a hand
In hopes to catch the unwilling eye,
While his mood turns to black despair
Heedless of those that grin and stare.
Careless of jibe and jeer he waits,
Thrusts himself where the eye must fall,
A voice, indifferent as Fate's,
Orders 'Stand back!' and that is all.
'Too old!' He steps down to make room
For younger men more slow to come.
Too old at fifty! But he feels
There's lots of fighting in him yet.
Some hint of glory lifts, reveals,
In the smirched days he would forget.
They might blot out the shameful past
If he fell fighting at the last.
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poem by Katharine Tynan
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What Have We Learned From History
What have we learned from history little if anything
Of war men and war heroes their praises we still sing
Humankind have come far in technology and on the moon surface have trod
And still we fight for our Nation's flag and go to war for our God.
What have we learned from history not much if you ask me
We still have wars and famines and we still have poverty
And we still have this awful thing called ethnic cleansing and we still have refugees
And we still wage war on Mother Earth and we still pollute her seas.
What have we learned from history if anything at all
Before the baby has to walk the baby has to learn to crawl
And life is just a learning curve or so we have been told
But few of those who lack wisdom in their twenties grow wiser as they grow old.
What have we learned from history we have learned to populate
And by bulldozing more virgin woodlands more diseases we create
We pollute Mother Earth who feeds us and our successes seem so few
And that the World would do nicely without us only happens to be true.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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When Norway Would Not Help
When Kattegat now or the Belt you sail,
No more will you sight
The Danish proud frigate, no more will you hail
The red and white;
No more will the ringing command be heard
In Wessel's tongue,
No rollicking music, no jocund word,
'Neath Dannebrog sung.
No dance will you see, no laughter meet,
As the white sails shine,
From mast and from stern no garland you greet,
Of arts the sign.
But all that we owned of the treasures on board
The deeps now hold;
One sad winter night to the sea-waves were poured
Our memories old.
It was that same night, when the frigate nigh
To Norway's land
Distress-guns was firing, the surf running high
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poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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A flag to carry
I tried to erase your memory
You were causing me so much worry
All the way I had felt deep sorry
Is this the way for the friendship flag to carry?
Red cheeks bear a desert look
As if a page missing in book
Can it be called a lovable piece?
If it fails to grant easy mind with pace
I wished to live a trace in your womb
My suggestion exploded like a live bomb
You saw it like shame on your existence
It left you high and dry and made you tense
It was just off beat talk and mention
It landed you in amusement with more tension
Well, it was desire from a very good friend
You halted it with one stroke and brought an end
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Morton
The warm pulse of the nation has grown chill;
The muffled heart of Freedom, like a knell,
Throbs solemnly for one whose earthly will
Wrought every mission well.
Whose glowing reason towered above the sea
Of dark disaster like a beacon light,
And led the Ship of State, unscathed and free,
Out of the gulfs of night.
When Treason, rabid-mouthed, and fanged with steel,
Lay growling o'er the bones of fallen braves,
And when beneath the tyrant's iron heel
Were ground the hearts of slaves,
And War, with all his train of horrors, leapt
Across the fortress-walls of Liberty
With havoc e'en the marble goddess wept
With tears of blood to see.
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Mayflower
THUNDER our thanks to her—guns, hearts and lips!
Cheer from the ranks to her,
Shout from the banks to her—
Mayflower! Foremost and best of our ships.
Mayflower! Twice in the national story
Thy dear name in letters of gold—
Woven in texture that never grows old-
Winning a home and winning glory!
Sailing the years to us, welcomed for aye;
Cherished for centuries, dearest to-day.
Every heart throbs for her, every flag dips—
Mayflower! First and last—best of our ships!
White as a seagull, she swept the long passage,
True as the homing-bird flies with its message.
Love her? O, richer than silk every sail of her.
Trust her? More precious than gold every nail of her.
Write we down faithfully every man's part in her;
Greet we all gratefully every true heart in her.
More than a name to us, sailing the fleetest,
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poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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The Dirge
Out of the pregnant darkness, where from fire
To glimmering fire the watchword leaps,
The dirge floats up from those who build the pyre
High and still higher
That yet shall blaze across the verminous deeps.
Farewell, O brother-heart,
Yet we shall not forget;
Though hand from hand must part,
Your hope is with us yet.
The clank of the swaggerer's sword
And clink of the grasper's gold
Are not so loud as the lover's word
In a thousand echoes rolled.
The lords of the tottering order sit and plot,
With cunning courtesy haggling still:
The insistent chorus cannot be forgot
Its words are shot
Like summoning rockets from the eastern hill.
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poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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Someone Not Worthy to Deceive
If I came to the aid of my neighbor struggling...
Would I be then declared a socialist?
If I offered shelter to those homeless and hungry,
Would I be a liberal?
With an agenda that was 'leftist'?
In these United States,
When I was taught to pledge alligence...
To a white and red star encrusted flag.
I believed myself and others together...
To be patriotic and of this we were glad.
But as I look upon this land,
With a separateness done.
And racism to overcome!
I'm stunned by the selfishness,
Of those whose interests...
Are only to feed their greed.
And leave others on the street,
With nothing to eat!
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To Alexander Berkman
Can you see me, Sasha?
I can see you….
A tentacle of the vast dawn is resting on your face
that floats as though detached
in a sultry and greenish vapor.
I cannot reach my hands to you…
would not if I could,
though I know how warmly yours would close about them.
Why?
I do not know…
I have a sense of shame.
Your eyes hurt me… mysterious openings in the gray stone of your face
through which your spirit streams out taut as a flag
bearing strange symbols to the new dawn.
If I stay… projected, trembling against these bars filtering emaciated light… will your eyes… that bore their lonely way through mine… stop as at a friendly gate… grow warm… and luminous? … but I cannot stay… for the smell… I know… how the days pass… The prison squats with granite haunches on the young spring, battened under with its twisting green… and you… socket for every bolt piercing like a driven nail. Eyes stare you through the bars… eyes blank as a graveled yard… and the silence shuffles heavy dice of feet in iron corridors… until the day… that has soiled herself in this black hole to caress the pale mask of your face… withdraws the last wizened ray to wash in the infinite her discolored hands. Can you hear me, Sasha, in your surrounded darkness?
poem by Lola Ridge
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To Sydney
CITY, I never told you yet—
O little City, let me tell—
A secret woven of your wiles,
Dear City with the angel face,
And you will hear with frowning grace,
Or will you break in summer smiles?
This is the secret, little town,
Lying so lightly towards the sea;
City, my secret has no art,
Dear City with the golden door;
But oh, the whispers I would pour
Into your ears—into your heart!
You are my lover, little place,
Lying so sweetly all alone.
And yet I cannot, cannot tell
My secret, for the voice will break
That tries to tell of all the ache
Of this poor heart beneath your spell.
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poem by Louise Mack
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