Camp-fire, Memorial-day, and Other Poems
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Camp-fire, Memorial-day, and Other Poems

by Kate Brownlee Sherwood
     
 

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Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally…  See more details below

Overview

Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made available for future generations to enjoy.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781290084703
Publisher:
HardPress Publishing
Publication date:
01/10/2012
Pages:
230
Product dimensions:
6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.48(d)

Read an Excerpt


MEMORIAL DAY AT ANDERSONVILLE, 1884. O Comrades, on each lonely grave we place one flower to-day, More sweet than any that shall bloom upon the heart of May; More flush in blue and crimson, with starry splendor crowned, Because the thunders raged above, the darkness hemmed around ; The flower that our fathers saw, an hundred years before, A tiny tendril springing by the lonely cabin door ; 'Twas sown in fears, 'twas wet with tears, till, lo, it burst in view, The symbol of a Nation's hopes — the Red, the White, the Blue. Ah, not in anger, not in strife, we come with laden hands ; The crimson retinues of War are off in other lands;We bring the blossoms we have nursed to shed their honeyed breath Where erst the reeling ranks of wrath unbarred the gates of death; We lift the dear dead faces of our heroes to the light, We raise the pallid hands of theirs, we clasp and hold them tight; We say : O brothers, rise and see the Peace you helped to woo, Whose snowy pinions hover o'er the Red, the White, the Blue. Not yours, O silent comrades, the ecstacy of strife, The haughty exaltation that rounds the hero's life ; Not yours the flash of sabers, the shouts of the advance, The gleam of thrusting bayonets that shiver as they glance; Not yours upon the parapet your banner to unfurl, To die with victory on your lips, as back your feet they hurl ; The whisper of a kindling hope, while gaily over The silken folds are dancing out — the Red, the White, the Blue. Nay, to your homesick vision the mask of Death was up, His icy breath was round you, his draught was in the cup ; A terror walks at noonday ; the dreams that throng the night But take the wings of morning and vanish ere thelight. But oh, our fallen heroes,...

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