THE banners rustle in the breeze, The angry trumpets swell; They call me, lady, from thy arms, They bid me sigh farewell! They call me to a heathen land, To quell a heathen foe; To leave love's blandishments, and court Rude dangers, strife, and wo. Yet deem not, lady, though afar It be my hap to roam, That this right loyal heart can stray From love, from thee, and home. No! in the tumult of the fight, Midst Salem's chivalrie, The thought that arms this hand with death Shall be the thought of thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHADOWS by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. SONNET FROM JAPAN: 2. THE SHRINE OF THE PILGRIM SANDALS by ADELAIDE NICHOLS BAKER AN UPPER CHAMBER by FRANCES BANNERMAN THE GEATE A-VALLEN TO by WILLIAM BARNES THE LEADY'S TOWER by WILLIAM BARNES |