I ON the blood-watered soil of the Balkans A Bulgar lies clenched with a Turk, And the task of the cannon and rifle Will be finished by fist and by dirk. And the last word of hate -- ere the rattle Of death bids their enmity cease -- Does it call to the banners of battle Or call to the colors of Peace? II In the purlieus of sin-befogged cities, Slow food of neglect and of pest, How many a mother lies dying, With to-morrow's pale scourge at her breast! And the bread-cry that serves for the prattle Of orphans -- (oh, when shall it cease?) -- Does it call to the banners of battle, Or call to the colors of Peace? III I hear from my window this morning The shout of a soldiering boy; And a note in his proud pleasure wounds me With the grief that is presaged by joy. I hear not the drum's noisy rattle For the groan of one hero's release: Does it call to the banners of battle, Or call to the colors of Peace? IV O ye of the God-given voices, My poets, of whom I am proud, Who trumpet the true and the real When illusions are dazzling the crowd: Go, turn men from wolves and from cattle, Till Love be the one Golden Fleece. Oh, call us no more unto battle, But call to the colors of Peace! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WORDS INTO WORDS WON'T GO by CLARENCE MAJOR A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE SOUL AND BODY by ANDREW MARVELL PSALM 114 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE GLENDEN'S DREAM by EMILY JANE BRONTE ISOBEL'S CHILD by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING EPOGRAM; LINES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW AT THE KING'S ARMS, DUMFRIES by ROBERT BURNS |