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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=428477" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Within the Alamo</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He drew a straight line<br>Across the dirt floor:<br>Within, it was death-still--<br>Without, was a roar<br>And a scream of the trumpets:<br>Within, was a Word--<br>And a line drawn clean<br>By the sweep of a sword.<br>No help was coming, now--<br>That hope was done.<br>No more the free air,<br>no more the sun<br>Bright on the blue leagues<br>Of buffalo-clover.<br>Travis drew a line<br>And they all crossed over.<br>Travis had a wife at home,<br>Travis was young;<br>Travis had a little boy<br>Whose tight arms clung,<br>But Travis saw a far light<br>Shining before:<br>Travis drew a sword-cut<br>Across the dirt floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now the old fort stands<br>Placid and dim,<br>Blinking and dreaming<br>Of them and of him;<br>And now past the Plaza<br>Other tides roar,<br>since Travis wrote "Valor"<br>Across the sand floor,<br>And the guns they will rust,<br>And the captains will go,<br>And an end come at last<br>To the wars that we know,<br>But as long as there travails<br>A Spirit in man,<br>In a war that was ancient<br>Before Time began,<br>Here will the brave come<br>To read a high Word--<br>Cut clean in the dust<br>By the stroke of a sword.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Karle+Wilson+Baker">Karle Wilson Baker</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=428477" data-title="Within the Alamo de Karle Wilson Baker" data-description="He drew a straight line Across the dirt floor: Within, it was death-still-- Without, was a roar And a scream of the trumpets: Within, was a Word-- And a line drawn clean By the sweep of a sword. No help was coming, now-- That hope was done. No mor..."></div> </div> </div>
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