Quotes about flag, page 66
Poland - Italy - Hungary
In the great Darkness of the Passion, graves
Were oped, and many Saints which slept arose.
So in this latter Darkness, which doth close
Upon our noon. That Peace Divine which saves
And blesses, and from the celestial waves
Of whose now-parted garment our worst woes
Did touch a healing virtue, by our foes
Is crucified. The inextricable slaves
Have slain what should have set them free. Behold
The vail is rent! Earth yawns; the rocks are hurled
In twain; and Kingdoms long since low and cold,
Each with his dead forgotten brow enfurled
In that proud flag he fell upon of old,
Come forth into the City of the World.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XXVIII
The summer I had passed in my own fashion
High in the Alps, a proselyte to toil.
I was released and free, and spent my passion
On the bare rocks as on a fruitful soil.
I had soothed my soul with labour, and its fire
Borne to those naked heights where I unfurled
My flag with new ambitions, high and higher
Even to the last bleak outposts of the world.
My soul had needed courage, and behold!
Here in these battles with the hosts of air
And rock and snow and storm she had grown bold
And proved her temper for the coming war.
This was her gain, the strife she must engage
With physical fear, her childhood's heritage.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Ode
Our patriot sires are gone,
The conqueror Death lays low
Those veterans one by one,
Who braved each other foe; --
Though on them rests death's sable pall,
Yet o'er their deeds no shade shall fall.
No, ye of deathless fame!
Ye shall not sleep unsung,
While freedom hath a name,
Or gratitude a tongue; --
Yet shall your names and deeds sublime
Shine brighter through the mists of Time.
Oh, keep your armor bright,
Sons of those mighty dead,
And guard ye well the right,
For which such blood was shed!
Your starry flag should only wave
O'er Freedom's home, or o'er your grave.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
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Not On It
The new chum's polo pony was the smartest pony yet --
The owner backed it for the Cup for all that he could get.
The books were laying fives to one, in tenners; and you bet
He was on it.
The bell was rung, the nags came out their quality to try,
The band played, "What Ho! Robbo!" as our hero cantered by,
The people in the Leger Stand cried out, "Hi, mister, hi!
Are you on it?"
They watched him as the flag went down; his fate is quickly told --
The pony gave a sudden spring, and off the rider rolled.
The pony finished first all right, but then our hero bold
Was not on it.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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And He Said, Fight On
Time and its ally, Dark Disarmament,
Have compassed me about,
Have massed their armies, and on battle bent
My forces put to rout;
But though I fight alone, and fall, and die,
Talk terms of Peace? Not I.
(Tennyson)
They war upon my fortress, and their guns
Are shattering its walls;
My army plays the cowards' part, and runs,
Pierced by a thousand balls;
They call for my surrender. I reply,
'Give quarter now? Not I.'
They've shot my flag to ribbons, but in rents
It floats above the height;
Their ensign shall not crown my battlements
While I can stand and fight.
I fling defiance at them as I cry,
[...] Read more
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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The Flag of our Destinies
With our boundaries swung to the circling seas and a nation named to the world!
And the six-starred flag of our destinies on every port unfurled!
God grant from Greed or the dust of sleep – or the right by a lie maintained –
From all save our blood, if we must, we’ll keep the silver and blue unstained!
We yield no praise and we speak no blame, for our history ‘s weeds and flowers –
But the work of a hundred years we claim as our father’s work and ours!
Through peace to prosper or war to save – wherever the future runs –
May God make noble and strong and brave the hearts of our father’s sons.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Mark Twain and Joan of Arc
When Yankee soldiers reach the barricade
Then Joan of Arc gives each the accolade.
For she is there in armor clad, today,
All the young poets of the wide world say.
Which of our freemen did she greet the first,
Seeing him come against the fires accurst?
Mark Twain, our Chief, with neither smile nor jest,
Leading to war our youngest and our best.
The Yankee to King Arthur's court returns.
The sacred flag of Joan above him burns.
For she has called his soul from out the tomb.
And where she stands, there he will stand till doom.
But I, I can but mourn, and mourn again
At bloodshed caused by angels, saints, and men.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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The Blood Red Rose
A solitary rose,
it could not understand
why it was deprived of life
by the cultivator's hand.
A solitary rose,
clutched in a mourner's fingers
waits the presenting of the flag
as the last note of "Taps" still lingers
A solitary Rose,
it could not understand
why its life was at the mercy
of the passing of this man.
A solitary Rose
wise beyond its time
is accepting of its fate
as the mourners stand in line
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Stainless
As rain brims rivers, springs life on the world,
love’s currents course through artery and vein,
vitality sustain, without which brain
sideways stumbles, soul dumb, flag fast furled.
When destinies together dance we’re whirled
by circumstance, or through Fate's unseen chain, -
although one-sided meeting may remain,
vain, or rejected, as a stitch unpurled.
Life's challenge must be met to free dreams pearled.
Despite the oyster's ugly shell, no stain
may mar reflections pure to cure the bane
where unshared emotions Time sends whorled
in ripples round from core to furthest part -
as heart from heart is drawn too far apart...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Colour My World
It's so cold
Nipping at my fingers.
I bleed icicles
People fall from bicycles
In disbelief.
The wind howls
A dog growls
In the backyard
Of loneliness
- The thief.
Only your sweet caress
Can colour my world.
Monosyllabic
Words are hurled
By lazy minds
Who pull the blinds
On grey.
I need to feel
The fire that burns.
Need to feed
[...] Read more
poem by Kevin East
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