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November Eleventh

by Elizabeth Hanly

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.

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