A drooping banner seem to lie
In listless folds, along the calm,
Still blue of boundless stagnancy.
Grieving, I think, because somewhat
Within my soul is near to die.
Enow the master-hand of Love
Plucks at my banner’s guiding string,
Until it flutters in the breeze,
And pulses like a living thing.
Joyous, I think, because somewhat