Quotes about flag, page 98
The Welsh Marches
High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam
Islanded in Severn stream;
The bridges from the steepled crest
Cross the water east and west.
The flag of morn in conqueror's state
Enters at the English gate:
The vanquished eve, as night prevails,
Bleeds upon the road to Wales.
Ages since the vanquished bled
Round my mother's marriage-bed;
There the ravens feasted far
About the open house of war:
When Severn down to Buildwas ran
Coloured with the death of man,
Couched upon her brother's grave
That Saxon got me on the slave.
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poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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The Valor of Honor.....
the decisive decision may switch off or lead
our mighty strength down to the ground and powder
the castle to the mouth of the canon
horrified to face the mountain that drain every
dots of stone, into the realm of click and tick tack of
the clock; siphon every sweat to waste until, the
sacrifice gain its pain
refresh not to fade, react not over act a complete
sense, that hold ever defense to face and to cease the
reigning Queen, in the kingdom with the King
power
come always forward for every encounter, wounded
soldiers never leave nor surrender but only
close their eyes and say that 'i shall return ' above
the turmoil clouds of hope
as the victor wait the witnessing ground and the
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poem by Antonio Liao
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Short Memory
We have short memory
Only express regret and sorry
Occasionally utter some words and offer solace
Relatively under sadness or what ever the case
Life has become very cheap and unworthy
Yet some of the services deserve sympathy
They are put above the entire existing one
As very noble and praise worthy work has been done
No t that life is not dear
Not that they are unaware and hear
All types of demoralizing stories and motives
Yet they remain aloof and subjective
Death is certain for any living individual
It must be treated as certainty and takes as casual
Yet no one throws away life for silly causes
It is demanded only when some danger clouds chase
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Word for the Hour
The firmament breaks up. In black eclipse
Light after light goes out. One evil star,
Luridly glaring through the smoke of war,
As in the dream of the Apocalypse,
Drags others down. Let us not weakly weep
Nor rashly threaten. Give us grace to keep
Our faith and patience; wherefore should we leap
On one hand into fratricidal fight,
Or, on the other, yield eternal right,
Frame lies of laws, and good and ill confound?
What fear we? Safe on freedom's vantage ground
Our feet are planted; let us there remain
In unrevengeful calm, no means untried
Which truth can sanction, no just claim denied,
The sad spectators of a suicide!
They break the lines of Union: shall we light
The fires of hell to weld anew the chain
On that red anvil where each blow is pain?
Draw we not even now a freer breath,
As from our shoulders falls a load of death
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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Conqueror
Not the Prussian, the forsworn,
By whose fury overborne,
Martyred Belgium, you lie
Bruised with all injury.
Through your peace red paths he clove,
Burning, slaying, making spoil
Of your shining treasure-trove,
Ancient wisdom, beauty, toil;
Drenching hearth and shrine and sod
With the blood that cries to God.
Futile all that savage force.
Time in his aeonian course
Still shall clarion your fame.
Yours the triumph;his the shame.
On your honor he made war,
But his guns have battered down
Only forts. Inheritor
Of unparalleled renown,
Belgium, your name shall be
Brighter than Thermopylæ.
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poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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She's Gone With The Wind
Will you kill me because I love you to much to ever let go.
A fatal attraction
It's just human interaction
Crushed till complete compaction
A whole heart with subtractions
You define the happiness of my life
A love you till it became an obsession
A life long lesson
Back off I just can't take it any more
I'm completely destroyed
And I control these feelings
Theirs no need to keep score
It's not like I haven't lost before
Will you kill me because I love you to much to ever let go.
A fatal attraction
It's just human interaction
Crushed till complete compaction
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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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My School
The school I went to was the best
In Coimbatore town, in those days;
It gave me knowledge and life’s zest,
And made me wholesome, in much ways!
The school was built by Father Pat,
Near Puliakulam road grandly;
In Standard five, I firstly sat,
And loved my school very dearly!
My principal, Father Lawrence
Was strict with students, yet loved them;
My heart was full of reverence,
As every teacher was a gem!
With dedication, teachers taught;
All students got very good marks;
The mischief-makers were soon caught-
Although some were like giant sharks!
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poem by John Celes
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Freedom Rant, Part Three... (Death Of The Poets)
humanism, capitalism,
abdicate the throne.
god on the laptop,
satan on the phone.
what we are, how near, how far,
and things we dare know touch.
recite prayers, let down your hair,
when too little is too much.
justice bartered, equality martyred,
let religion opiate the mind.
cant see or smell the guilt of blood,
when you're deaf and you're blind.
money talks, while poverty walks,
and hatred buys a gun.
anger boils, the price of oil,
and the smoke hides the sun.
desperate trance, without a chance,
children learn to close their eyes.
minds closed and lips set,
while their souls pray to die!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Within the Circuit of This Plodding Life
Within the circuit of this plodding life
There enter moments of an azure hue,
Untarnished fair as is the violet
Or anemone, when the spring strews them
By some meandering rivulet, which make
The best philosophy untrue that aims
But to console man for his grievances
I have remembered when the winter came,
High in my chamber in the frosty nights,
When in the still light of the cheerful moon,
On every twig and rail and jutting spout,
The icy spears were adding to their length
Against the arrows of the coming sun,
How in the shimmering noon of summer past
Some unrecorded beam slanted across
The upland pastures where the Johnswort grew;
Or heard, amid the verdure of my mind,
The bee's long smothered hum, on the blue flag
Loitering amidst the mead; or busy rill,
Which now through all its course stands still and dumb
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poem by Henry David Thoreau
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Morning Express
Along the wind-swept platform, pinched and white,
The travellers stand in pools of wintry light,
Offering themselves to morn’s long, slanting arrows.
The train’s due; porters trundle laden barrows.
The train steams in, volleying resplendent clouds
Of sun-blown vapour. Hither and about,
Scared people hurry, storming the doors in crowds.
The officials seem to waken with a shout,
Resolved to hoist and plunder; some to the vans
Leap; others rumble the milk in gleaming cans.
Boys, indolent-eyed, from baskets leaning back,
Question each face; a man with a hammer steals
Stooping from coach to coach; with clang and clack
Touches and tests, and listens to the wheels.
Guard sounds a warning whistle, points to the clock
With brandished flag, and on his folded flock
Claps the last door: the monster grunts: ‘Enough!’
Tightening his load of links with pant and puff.
Under the arch, then forth into blue day,
Glide the processional windows on their way,
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poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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