HE hears the whir of the battle-drum, And the shrill-voiced fife, and the bugle-call, With a thirsty spirit that drinks it all As men might drink the wine poured from Old wicker flagons raimented With the rust and dust of ages dead. He plunges into the crimson sea Of carnage, and with a dauntless pride, He swims, with his good star, side by side, To the blood-sprayed heights of Victory, Where never his glory waxes dim, Though a woman's weak hand conquers him. And nigh and alone -- as the sculptor makes Him set in stone that the world may see -- He sits there, crowned eternally, And sheltered under a flag that shakes Her silken stripes and her silver stars Into a tangle of endless wars. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 3. TEESTAY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SONNET TO GEORGE SAND: 2. A DESIRE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER (1) by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 50. MY LOVE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |