The Flag (Julia Ward Howe Poems)
There's a flag hangs over my threshold, whose folds are more dear to meThan the blood that thrills in my ...
There's a flag hangs over my threshold, whose folds are more dear to meThan the blood that thrills in my ...
WEAVE no more silks, ye Lyons looms, To deck our girls for gay delights!The crimson flower of battle blooms, And solemn marches ...
The shell of objects inwardly consumed Will stand, till some convulsive wind awakes; Such sense hath Fire to waste the ...
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