November Eleventh Elizabeth Hanly
in Popular Educator
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.