Hope Is a Tattered Flag
Hope is a tattered flag and a dream of time.
Hope is a heartspun word, the rainbow, the shadblow in white
The evening star inviolable over the coal mines,
The shimmer of northern lights across a bitter winter night,
The blue hills beyond the smoke of the steel works,
The birds who go on singing to their mates in peace, war, peace,
The ten-cent crocus bulb blooming in a used-car salesroom,
The horseshoe over the door, the luckpiece in the pocket,
The kiss and the comforting laugh and resolve—
Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder.
The spring grass showing itself where least expected,
The rolling fluff of white clouds on a changeable sky,
The broadcast of strings from Japan, bells from Moscow,
Of the voice of the prime minister of Sweden carried
Across the sea in behalf of a world family of nations
And children singing chorals of the Christ child
And Bach being broadcast from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania
And tall skyscrapers practically empty of tenants
And the hands of strong men groping for handholds
And the Salvation Army singing God loves us….
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Comments about this poem (Hope Is a Tattered Flag by Carl Sandburg )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(2 February 1882 – 13 January 1941)
(31 March 1934 – 31 May 2009)
(16 April 1918 – 27 February 2002)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(January 30, 1935 – September 14, 1984)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
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