s and Zeppelin?

Most gifted race the world has ever known,
Now bleeding in the dust of rank despairs,--
Was it for this men builded at Cologne,
Kant wrote at midnight, Schumann dreamed his airs?

IN MEMORY OF THE AMERICAN AVIATORS KILLED IN FRANCE

Not at their own dear country's call,
But answering another voice,
They gave to Liberty their all,
Nor faltered in the choice.

Their young and ardent hearts were coined
Into a golden seal for France;
Above their graves two flags are joined;
They lie beyond mischance.

And we, remembering whence came
Our Goddess where the sea-tide runs,
Nobly acquit the noble claim
France has upon our sons.

Who dies for France, for us he dies,
For all that gentle is and fair:
God prosper, in those shell-torn skies,
Our chivalry of air.

THE FLAGS ON FIFTH AVENUE

Above the stately roofs, wind-lifted, high,
A lane of vivid colour in the sky,
They ripple cleanly, seen of every eye.

This is your flag: none other: yours alone:
Yours then to honour: and where it is flown
By your devotion let your heart be known.

Feeble the man who dare not bow the knee
Before some symbol greater far than he--
This is no pomp and no idolatry.

Emblem of youth, and hope, and strength held true
By honour, and by wise forbearance, too--
God bless the flags along the Avenue!

"THEY"

Whoso has gift of simple speech
Of measured words and plain,
To him be given it to teach
The sadness of Lorraine.

She asked but sun and rain to bless
Her blue enfolding hills,
And time, to heal the old distress
Of dim-remembered ills.

The fields, the vineyards and the lathe,
The river, loved so well--
O sunset pools and lads that bathe
Along the green Moselle.

One whispered word--curt, bitter, brief,
Lives now in black Lorraine,
One word that sums her whole of grief--
Dead children, women slain.

The cure's blood that stained the road,
The village burned away,
The needless horrors men abode
Are all in one word--_they_.

BALLAD OF FRENCH RIVERS

Of streams that men take honour in
The Frenchman looks to three,
And each one has for origin
The hills of Burgundy;
And each has known the quivers