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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341857" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Old Meeting House</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Its quiet graves were made for peace till Gabriel blows his horn. <br>Those wise old elms could hear no cry <br>Of all that distant agony— <br>Only the red-winged blackbird, and the rustle of thick ripe corn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The blue jay, perched upon that bronze, with bright unweeting eye <br>Could never read the names that signed <br>The noblest charter of mankind; <br>But all of them were names we knew beneath our English skies. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And on the low gray headstones, with their crumbling weather-stains, <br>—Though cardinal birds, like drops of blood, <br>Flickered across the haunted wood,— <br>The names you’d see were names that woke like flowers in English lanes </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>John Applegate was fast asleep; and Temperance Olden, too. <br>And David Worth had quite forgot <br>If Hannah’s lips were red or not; <br>And Prudence veiled her eyes at last, as Prudence ought to do. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And when, across that patch of heaven, that small blue leaf-edged space <br>At times, a droning airplane went, <br>No flicker of astonishment <br>Could lift the heavy eyelids on one gossip’s upturned face. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>For William Speakman could not tell—so thick the grasses grow— <br>If that strange humming in the sky <br>Meant that the Judgment Day were nigh, <br>Or if ’twere but the summer bees that blundered to and fro. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And then, across the breathless wood, a Bell began to sound, <br>The only Bell that wakes the dead, <br>And Stockton Signer raised his head, <br>And called to all the deacons in the ancient burial-ground. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>“The Bell, the Bell is ringing! Give me back my rusty sword. <br>Though I thought the wars were done, <br>Though I thought our peace was won, <br>Yet I signed the Declaration, and the dead must keep their word. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>“There’s only one great ghost I know could make that ’larum ring. <br>It’s the captain that we knew <br>In the ancient buff and blue, <br>It’s our Englishman, George Washington, who fought the German king!” </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>So the sunset saw them mustering beneath their brooding boughs, <br>Ancient shadows of our sires, <br>Kindling with the ancient fires, <br>While the old cracked Bell to southward shook the shadowy meeting house.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Noyes">Alfred Noyes</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341857" data-title="The Old Meeting House de Alfred Noyes" data-description="Its quiet graves were made for peace till Gabriel blows his horn. 
Those wise old elms could hear no cry 
Of all that distant agony— 
Only the red-winged blackbird, and the rustle of thick ripe corn. 


The blue jay, perched upon that bronze, wi..."></div>
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