When navies are forgotten And fleets are useless things, When the dove shall warm her bosom Beneath the eagle's wings; When the memory of battles At last is strange and old, When nations have one banner And creeds have found one fold; When the Hand that sprinkles midnight With its dust of powdered suns Has hushed this tiny tumult Of sects, and swords, and guns, Then hate's last note of discord In all God's world shall cease In the conquest which is service, In the victory which is peace. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STANZAS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TO DIANEME (1) by ROBERT HERRICK THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 34. THE DARK GLASS by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE ALTAR STONE by RICHARD ALEXANDER THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 60. THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |