FLAGS AND THE SKY
I looked from my window:
I heard a whisper without from the rippling poplar,
I heard the wash of the river, its waves are never still;
I looked, and over the water the flag,
Alive as the river, alive as the rippling poplar,
Rippled too in the wind.
The sun was upon it.
It had the beauty of flowers.
O flag, though you were not my own, I know I should love you:
I love all flowers, all flags:
Their colors in the wind flowing, in the sun brightening:
Deep blue of the night sky, or the splendor of flame,
Or green of spring, or the daring imperious scarlet,
The color of men’s blood:
Their curious blazonry I love, heraldic, historic,
Leopard or eagle, stripe or star or raying sun,
Or the Cross of St. George and the Cross of St. Andrew,
Or whatsoever sign men have loved and followed.
For surely a flag has a soul.
It is a thing sacred as sunrise,
It is sacred as the stars.
The spirit of Man lifts it up into the sky
That holds all stars, all flags.
I believe that a flag cannot be dishonored forever
By any deed of men.
Let it but fly awhile, and the wind will winnow it,
And the fierce pure sun will purge it, will wash it clean;
For the souls of races and nations live in the sky,
And are forever better than the deeds men do.
There was a man who burned with fire
The flag that he loved best,
Because he thought that out of its dead ashes
Might rise the Flag of Man.
He would have to wait a long time for that rising,
He would have to wait forever;
For live things do not rise out of ashes,
They rise out of live loves.
That man never knew that his flag had a soul,
He never knew that the world needed the soul in his flag,
And the souls in all flags.
The Flag of Man!
What should be its colors, in the wind flowing, in the sun brightening?
And what should be its curious blazonry?
The upper field should be blue as the sky of God:
The lower field, should be red as the blood of Man:
And there should fly forever beside it—
Always beside it, and neither above nor below it—
The one flag that a man is born to,
Born of his mother to love and not to leave,
As he loves his mother and will not leave her.
The Flag of Man!
It is long a-weaving.
God speed the weaving, and Man speed the weaving!
Let every one of us go on weaving that flag in his heart;
Perhaps, when the grass is rippling over the grave of him,
It may ripple in the sky that holds all stars, all flags,
The Flag of All Souls.