The Great War

from Great Poems of the World War, an electronic edition

November Eleventh

A THOUSAND whistles break the bonds of sleep

With swift exultant summons wild and shrill;

Impassioned tongues of flames toward heaven leap

To tell us peace has come. The guns are still.

A thousand flags have blossomed in the air

Like poppies in a garden by the sea.

Beyond the eastern hills a golden flare

Foretells the day that broke on Calvary.

Long-darkened Liberty uplifts once more

Her torch on Belgium, Poland and Alsace

And Flanders--on each desecrated shore,

Slow dawns the sun; and on my mother's face

The look, I think, that Mary must have worn

In Galilee on Resurrection morn.