Peschiera
What voice did on my spirit fall,
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost?
‘’Tis better to have fought and lost,
Than never to have fought at all.’
The tricolor, a trampled rag
Lies, dirt and dust; the lines I track
By sentry boxes yellow-black,
Lead up to no Italian flag.
I see the Croat soldier stand
Upon the grass of your redoubts;
The eagle with his black wings flouts
The breath and beauty of your land.
Yet not in vain, although in vain,
O’ men of Brescia, on the day
Of loss past hope, I heard you say
Your welcome to the noble pain.
You say, ‘Since so it is, good bye
Sweet life, high hope; but whatsoe’er
May be, or must, no tongue shall dare
To tell, “The Lombard feared to die!”’
You said (there shall be answer fit),
‘And if our children must obey,
They must; but thinking on this day
’Twill less debase them to submit.’
You said (Oh not in vain you said),
‘Haste, brothers, haste, while yet we may;
The hours ebb fast of this one day
When blood may yet be nobly shed.’
Ah! not for idle hatred, not
For honour, fame, nor self-applause,
But for the glory of the cause,
You did, what will not be forgot.
And though the stranger stand, ’tis true,
By force and fortune’s right he stands;
By fortune, which is in God’s hands,
And strength, which yet shall spring in you.
This voice did on my spirit fall,
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost,
‘’Tis better to have fought and lost,
Than never to have fought at all.’
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Alteram Partem
Or shall I say, Vain word, false thought,
Since prudence hath her martyrs too,
And Wisdom dictates not to do,
Till doing shall be not for nought.
Not ours to give or lose is life;
Will Nature, when her brave ones fall,
Remake her work? or songs recall
Death’s victim slain in useless strife?
That rivers flow into the sea
Is loss and waste, the foolish say,
Nor know that back they find their way,
Unseen, to where they wont to be.
Showers fall upon the hills, springs flow,
The river runneth still at hand,
Brave men are born into the land,
And whence the foolish do not know.
No! no vain voice did on me fall,
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost,
‘’Tis better to have fought and lost,
Than never to have fought at all.’
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Lust We Fought For
The lust we fought for in now just a pile of ash.
The lust we fought for was a lie to it's very last.
The lust we fought for burns in my memory every night.
The kust we fought for wasn't worth it's own right.
The lust we fought for seemed so out of control.
The lust we fought for only needed us to grab ahold.
So the lust we fought for wasn't lust at all.
Indeed it was love that made our great fall.
The lust we fought for keeps me crying at night.
The lust we fought for has me praying to turn it right.
The lust we fought for makes me miss you more.
The lust we fought for broke my heart to it's core.
The lust we fought for brings out a million tears.
The lust we fought for challenged all of my fears.
So the lust we fought for was the pain i deserved to face.
Indeed it was love from that magically beautiful place.
The lust we fought for is now gone up in flames...
Because I now know that the lust we fought for was real all the same.
poem by Erin Grantham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stand
He's seen it all before, he's been there and back
Lived his life with scum on the wrong side of the track
He can't take it any more, got nothing at all
Realizes that he's got nowhere to fall
Stand on your feet and fight to take it back
Stand up again get yourself on the right track
Stand for yourself, don't fall over the edge
Stand, I'll be there 'till the very end
Wants to clean himself around but old habits, they die hard
He fought through it all, he found through it all, he fought to keep his head straight
but he'll never escape
song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vietnam
The young man's youth
fought the war for you
The soldier's young dreams
fought the war for me
Who ever know that he was
he was who America grew
Who'd ever guess he would be
America' best, but he
Took his own life, and
he had the right
By his own hand the man
took a stand, and
Fro his own hand, the man
took my stand, when he
Fought the war for you
he fought the war for me
And I sing for thee
they fought the war for me.
poem by Dan M. Jones
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wake Me!
Wake me when the war is over
Then tell me who won the fight,
“ hoorah ” for us if we have won,
and if we lost, then GOD wasn't on our side.
Then let me know just why we fought
And the reasons that we might die
Refresh my memory of this war once more
So never again must I ask why.
And if anyone asks if I did fight
While I was station way over there,
Thank them all and tell them of course I did
And thank them for keeping me in there prayer.
And tell them all no medals home will I bring
As I fought just for home and glory,
“MMM”, I like how that sounded
I think That will be my story.
I never fought for hate or for love
Never fought for the red, black, yellow or white
I never fought for riches or for wealth
I fought for my leaders, as they told me to fight.
Wake me when this war is over
Or tell me when the fighting is done
So I can discard my gun and put on my boots
And then head home, to my wife and son.
And tell them all I served my country well
Please tell them one lie after another
And tell them all I fought for GOD and Country
And also of course for my friends and mother.
And tell them while I was way over there
I fought hard each and every day
I killed for truth and I killed for justice
And every night for my sins to GOD I would pray.
So much sadness came from this war
Sadness I seen each and every way
How much I miss my family and home
And how I so hate in being afraid.
And when you do tell of my story
Don't tell it so sad to cause any to weep
Because during this war I did not a thing
Because as you know, all I did was sleep.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Golden Eagle
In the bottom of an old greasy swamp, lies a golden eagle, it's shine now covered in grime.
It lies here, forgotten witness of the brave few who dare to venture where none ever do.
This golden eagle, doth many scars bear, tis many grooves where swords did tear.
Came they from a terrible fight, on a cold blustery day, where the hope of an army was blown away.
Hundreds of weary hungry men, tramping through unfamiliar ground, when in the midst of an ambush they were found.
These weary men, they were tired and cold. They raised the swords, though outnumbered, they were bold.
As the barbarians tore through their withering lines, and as their screaming comrades were consumed by fire,
They gripped the swords, and bid their families farewell, stood back to back, as the enemy did into their columns hack.
In the midst of this carnage, floated the golden eagle, symbol of their hope, their integrity, dream, and goal.
Round the eagle, they now stood, desperately outnumbered by an enemy their distant commanders had misunderstood.
They gave no quarter, expected none. Rallied round that golden eagle, and held together as one.
That eagle, it witnessed the havoc that they made as the enemy in cascades came.
It saw their courage in the face of death. The things they gave when they had nothing left.
It saw the lions rise from their sleep, the final blaze of glory, the heroics that make us weep.
Though all hope was lost, they still fought on like it was there, the golden eagle the focus of their care.
Till finally, the last man had fallen. With his last breath threw the man the eagle into the water.
Never would it fall into enemy hands, it would be the silent witness of these fallen men.
Though defeated, yet they fought on. Though hope was gone, still they fought on and on.
Their dream they never let die, heros they died, heroes for which the people would cry.
Golden eagle, doesn't alway mean victory. But the golden eagle, will never give in.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Rememberance Day
On remembrance day we honour all
Each gave their best enduring call
God bless each one for being there
All our service men did their share.
Soldiers young and soldiers old
Fought the war brave and bold
They fought in Air, Land and Sea
If not for them where would we be.
Some lived while others died
As they fought side by side
They fought many a day and night
Their mission sure their spirits bright.
The loved ones bore the greatest pain
So many thoughts will never wane
We're proud of all the forces who
Fought for the Red, White and Blue.
We'll never let their special day
Their time of honour slip away
Though we may not know each name
We thank all the forces just the same.
'Wrote for November 11 th'
poem by Hazel Connelly
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Proud American Soldier
Proud American Soldier
(God bless and keep safe our fighting men and women in harm’s way)
I fought beside my brothers, as they died on foreign shores,
I’m proud to say, we fought and slay, our enemies by the scores.
One by one, we fought and won, wars down through the ages,
The history books are written with our blood stains on the pages.
Our skin is many colors, we are women and we’re men,
We stand up to injustices no matter where or when.
I’m a Proud American Soldier, my job’s to keep us free,
I ply my timeless trade so far away, across the sea.
When others cringe and cower, you’ll find us standing tall,
We’ll remain steadfast until the last, of the evil tip and fall.
Come what may, get in our way, we’ll never cut and run,
We’ll stay our course, with no remorse and it ain’t always fun.
We’re the sailors that go out to sea, we’re the pilots in the sky,
We’re the grunts out in the fox holes, and we all know that men die.
I’m a Proud American Soldier, my job’s to keeps free,
I ply my timeless trade so far away, across the sea.
They spoke kindly of my enemies, the same day that I died,
Then burned my flag in protest, as my widow watched and cried.
But don’t you worry much my friends, nor shed a tear for me,
There’s more where I come from, to fight and keep you free.
Freedom isn’t free dear friends, we foot the bill in blood.
We die in the desert sand and in the jungle’s mud.
I’m a Proud American Soldier, my jobs to keep us free,
I ply my timeless trade so far away across the sea.
I may be just a soldier, but that’s just fine by me.
poem by Michael Barker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Fought The Law
(s.curtis)
Im breakin rocks in the hot sun, I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the law won, I needed money cos I had none
I fought the law and the law won, I fought the law and the law won
I left my baby and I feel so bad, I guess my race is run
Shes the best girl I ever had, I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the law won, I was robbing people with a six gun
I fought the law and the law won, I fought the law and the law won
I miss my baby and good fun, I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the law won, I left my baby and I feel so bad
I guess my race is run, shes the best girl I ever had
I fought the law and the law won, I fought the law and the law won
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Soldier Has A Dream
After a war a soldier sometimes has to cry as dreams of those memories waters in the eye.
It's very sad when this world of ours goes to war.
Peace is the thing that soldiers have fought and died for.
With hands held in the air a soldier cries a bit but people are blind to dreams that do not fit.
Some people abuse this world but one day they'll find that they've lost their battlefields and they are unklind.
Lost battlefields and dreams with no victories won, following the forgotten hero.
Here they come.
They bury the dream because they cannot recall what it was that made the Soldier stand proud and tall.
Soldiers come from all walks of life.
Sisters.
Brothers.
Soldiers with many dreams seldom shared with others.
Soldiers who had loved ones and families back home.
Some soldiers are just children
and still on their own.
Honoured I feel to remember soldiers this way.
I salute them have I your attention I say.
Stand at ease,
fall out.
Sir nobody knew his name.
Dear God you know who he was our dream was the same.
Undaunted was the soldier in the face of fear.
No turning back.
Each soldier shed a silent tear.
But I wonder why no one hears the soldiers cry.
Listen today as soldiers go to fight and die .
Try to imagine the soldiers forgotten dream.
Keep the memory of what the Soldier
had been.
It haunts us today and remains here in our time.
Ghosts with forgotten dreams remain.
Its such a crime.
What the soldier fought for is what we must redeem,
as we look back and try to recapture the dream.
The ship's sunk and they say,
we're glad we missed the cruise.
Don't take for granted things in life we shouldn't loose.
When the battle is over and the dreams don't sit.
Every soldier must cry just a little bit.
By Paul McCann
poem by Paul McCann
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Broken Soldier
Here stands a broken soldier
One that has fought for his life
One who has fought for your rights
One who has fought with no end
And has asked for nothing in return
Here stands a broken soldier
Much like any other
Just trying to make it through the day
Helping to keep a nation together
There is no wish for fame
No wish for glory
You may not even know his name
Still you know he is a hero
This broken soldier
Has seen his share
He has learned much more
Than what you will learn from books
He has face you each and every worst fear
He has met pain
And death was always a close friend
Knocking on his door
Waiting to be let in
But this soldier
Wasn't ready to give in
He may wonder a street
And pass you by
Yet he is still fighting by your side
And for your rights
He may seem unimportant
For he played such a small part in this huge parade
But in a war
When he is fighting
That small part becomes the parade
And helps a thousand times more than you'd think
This broken soldier knows the risks
He knows the possibility
And yet he fights
For your rights
For your Justice
And at your Liberty
poem by Alandra Nicole Moreira
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A foot soldier
When I was hurt & lost someone dear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
When the going got tough with nothing to gear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
when the faith felt small & doubts really bigger
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
When the sky was dark & nothing seemed near
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
when the wounds were hurting with no immediate cure
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
when the hopes were grim & nothing was clear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
When storms came hard striking some fear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
I fought & fought & I fought till the victory was sure
Yes, I could do it because I am a foot soldier
poem by Ameya Deshpande
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Fifty Years (1863-1913)
O brothers mine, to-day we stand
Where half a century sweeps our ken,
Since God, through Lincoln's ready hand,
Struck off our bonds and made us men.
Just fifty years - a winter's day -
As runs the history of a race;
Yet, as we look back o'er the way,
How distant seems our starting place!
Look farther back! Three centuries!
To where a naked, shivering score,
Snatched from their haunts across the seas,
Stood, wild-eyed, on Virginia's shore.
This land is ours by right of birth,
This land is ours by right of toil;
We helped to turn its virgin earth,
Our sweat is in its fruitful soil.
Where once the tangled forest stood, -
Where flourished once rank weed and thorn, -
Behold the path-traced, peaceful wood,
The cotton white, the yellow corn.
To gain these fruits that have been earned,
To hold these fields that have been won,
Our arms have strained, our backs have burned,
Bent bare beneath a ruthless sun.
That Banner which is now the type
Of victory on field and flood -
Remember, its first crimson stripe
Was dyed by Attucks' willing blood.
And never yet has come the cry -
When that fair flag has been assailed -
For men to do, for men to die,
That we have faltered or have failed.
We've helped to bear it, rent and torn,
Through many a hot-breath'd battle breeze
Held in our hands, it has been borne
And planted far across the seas.
And never yet, - O haughty Land,
Let us, at least, for this be praised -
Has one black, treason-guided hand
Ever against that flag been raised.
Then should we speak but servile words,
Or shall we hang our heads in shame?
Stand back of new-come foreign hordes,
And fear our heritage to claim?
No! stand erect and without fear,
And for our foes let this suffice -
We've bought a rightful sonship here,
And we have more than paid the price.
And yet, my brothers, well I know
The tethered feet, the pinioned wings,
The spirit bowed beneath the blow,
The heart grown faint from wounds and stings;
The staggering force of brutish might,
That strikes and leaves us stunned and dazed;
The long, vain waiting through the night
To hear some voice for justice raised.
Full well I know the hour when hope
Sinks dead, and 'round us everywhere
Hangs stifling darkness, and we grope
With hands uplifted in despair.
Courage! Look out, beyond, and see
The far horizon's beckoning span!
Faith in your God-known destiny!
We are a part of some great plan.
Because the tongues of Garrison
And Phillips now are cold in death,
Think you their work can be undone?
Or quenched the fires lit by their breath?
Think you that John Brown's spirit stops?
That Lovejoy was but idly slain?
Or do you think those precious drops
From Lincoln's heart were shed in vain?
That for which millions prayed and sighed,
That for which tens of thousands fought,
For which so many freely died,
God cannot let it come to naught.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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I Fought The Law
Breakin' rocks in the hot sun
I fought the law and the law won
I fougth the law and the law won
I needed money 'cause I had none
I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the law won
I miss my baby and I feel so bad
I guess my race is run
She was the best girl that I ever had
I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the law won
Robbin' people with a six-gun
I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the law won
I miss my baby and the good fun
I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the law won
I miss my baby and I feel so bad
I guess my race is run
She was the best girl that I ever had
I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the law won
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Self-Interrogation
'The evening passes fast away.
'Tis almost time to rest;
What thoughts has left the vanished day,
What feelings in thy breast?
'The vanished day? It leaves a sense
Of labour hardly done;
Of little gained with vast expense—
A sense of grief alone?
'Time stands before the door of Death,
Upbraiding bitterly
And Conscience, with exhaustless breath,
Pours black reproach on me:
'And though I've said that Conscience lies
And Time should Fate condemn;
Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes,
And makes me yield to them!
'Then art thou glad to seek repose?
Art glad to leave the sea,
And anchor all thy weary woes
In calm Eternity?
'Nothing regrets to see thee go—
Not one voice sobs' farewell;'
And where thy heart has suffered so,
Canst thou desire to dwell?"
'Alas! the countless links are strong
That bind us to our clay;
The loving spirit lingers long,
And would not pass away!
'And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame
Will crown the soldier's crest;
But a brave heart, with a tarnished name,
Would rather fight than rest.
'Well, thou hast fought for many a year,
Hast fought thy whole life through,
Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear;
What is there left to do?
'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven,
Has dared what few would dare;
Much have I done, and freely given,
But little learnt to bear!
'Look on the grave where thou must sleep
Thy last, and strongest foe;
It is endurance not to weep,
If that repose seem woe.
'The long war closing in defeat—
Defeat serenely borne,—
Thy midnight rest may still be sweet,
And break in glorious morn!'
poem by Emily Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Here We Go
This ones fought the trendy set
This ones fought the feds
This ones fought the people baby
And tried to ruin my plans
This ones fought the radio
This ones fought the press
This ones fought the people baby
And made my life such a mess
Woah... here we go (we gotta go, we gottta go)
This ones fought the little girls
This ones fought the boys
This ones fought the people baby
And told me all their lies
Woah... here we go (we gotta go, we gottta go)
I will press the button
And they will go away
But dont forget to say your prayers
Before I blow them all away, I say
Woah... here we go (we gotta go, we gottta go)
Woah... here we go (we gotta go!)
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Self-Interrogation
The evening passes fast away,
'Tis almost time to rest;
What thoughts has left the vanished day,
What feelings, in thy breast?
"The vanished day? It leaves a sense
Of labour hardly done;
Of little, gained with vast expense, -
A sense of grief alone!
"Time stands before the door of Death,
Upbraiding bitterly;
And Conscience, with exhaustless breath,
Pours black reproach on me:
"And though I've said that Conscience lies,
And Time should Fate condemn;
Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes,
And makes me yield to them!
"Then art thou glad to seek repose?
Art glad to leave the sea,
And anchor all thy weary woes
In calm Eternity?
"Nothing regrets to see thee go -
Not one voice sobs "farewell,"
And where thy heart has suffered so,
Canst thou desire to dwell?"
"Alas! The countless links are strong
That bind us to our clay;
The loving spirit lingers long,
And would not pass away!
"And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame
Will crown the soldier's crest;
But, a brave heart, with a tarnished name,
Would rather fight than rest."
"Well, thou hast fought for many a year,
Hast fought thy whole life through,
Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear;
What is there left to do?"
"'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven,
Has dared what few would dare;
Much have I done, and freely given,
But little learnt to bear!"
"Look on the grave, where thou must sleep,
Thy last, and strongest foe;
It is endurance not to weep,
If that repose seem woe.
"The long war closing in defeat,
Defeat serenely borne,
Thy midnight rest may still be sweet,
And break in glorious morn!"
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Battle-Field
Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,
And fiery hearts and armed hands
Encountered in the battle cloud.
Ah! I never shall the land forget
How gushed the life-blood of her brave--
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,
Upon the soil they fought to save.
Now all is calm, and fresh, and still,
Alone the chirp of flitting bird,
And talk of children on the hill,
And bell of wandering kine are heard.
No solemn host goes trailing by
The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;
Men start not at the battle-cry,
Oh, be it never heard again!
Soon rested those who fought; but thou
Who minglest in the harder strife
For truths which men receive not now
Thy warfare only ends with life.
A friendless warfare! lingering long
Through weary day and weary year.
A wild and many-weaponed throng
Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.
Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,
And blench not at thy chosen lot.
The timid good may stand aloof,
The sage may frown--yet faint thou not.
Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn;
For with thy side shall dwell, at last,
The victory of endurance born.
Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;
The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies among his worshippers.
Yea, though thou lie upon the dust,
When they who helped thee flee in fear,
Die full of hope and manly trust,
Like those who fell in battle here.
Another hand thy sword shall wield,
Another hand the standard wave,
Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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In Memoriam
Looking some papers over,
Dusty and dim and old,
I found some words that thrilled me
With their ring of genuine gold-
Words that were better than rubies,
And they stirred me even to tears,
For the hand that wrote them has rested
Under the sod for years.
O name to be spoken softly!
O sainted Thurlow Brown!
The world lost one of its heroes
When he dropped the cross for the crown.
And the cause he loved and fought for
Lost more than my tongue can tell
For he left no soul behind him
That could do the work so well.
When I think of his mighty labors,
My own seem weak and vain,
And I know that his place in the vineyard
Can never be filled again.
But the burning words that he uttered,
Or that dropped like coals from his pen,
Shall live for ever and ever
In the hearts and minds of men.
O God! if spirits do ever
Come down from heaven on high,
Let the spirit of this great hero
Sometimes be hovering nigh;
And give him the power to guide us
In all that we do or say
For the cause he loved and fought for.
Oh! grant it, Lord, I pray.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I Fought Piranhas
Well i hold the rope
and i hold the sail
and i kept my papers
to keep from land in jail
and i fought piranhas
and i fought the cold
there was no one with me
i was all alone
Well it's easter morning now
and there's noone around
so i unroll the cement
and walk into the town
there was noone with me
and i was all alone
and i fought piranhas
and i fought the cold
Well you know what it's like
i don't got to tell you
who puts up a fight
walking out of hell now
when you fought piranhas
and you fought the cold
there's nobody with you
and you're all alone
song performed by by White Stripes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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