With colors gay, adown the street, The drums alert with stirring beat, Our lads pass by who rode for France. They proudly step with ne'er a glance To right or left. They never knew defeat. And still they come, the marching feet Sweep on. Their triumph is complete. The pennons flutter and the sky's adance With colors gay. So late in woods, the air replete With bursting shell and war's conceit, But now to pulsing beat advance, And shouts, that thrill, for home, for France, Our lads march by, adown the street With colors gay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BIRDS DO THUS by ROBERT FROST BALLADE OF A TRAVELLER'S JINX by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS MUSIC; AND THE SAVAGE BREAST by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS PSALM 3; WHEN HE FLED FROM ABSALOM; AUGUST 9, 1653 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |