Explore "Homing Braves" by Georgia Douglas Johnson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There's music in the measured tread / Of those returning from the dead / Like scattered flowers from a plain / So lately crimson, with the slain.
No more the sound of shuffled feet / Shall mark the poltroon on the street, / Nor shifting, sodden, downcast eye / Reveal the man afraid to die.
They shall have paid full, utterly / The price of peace across the sea, / When, with uplifted glance, they come / To claim a kindly welcome home.
Nor shall the old-time daedal sting / Of prejudice, their manhood wing, / Nor heights, nor depths, nor living streams / Stand in the pathway of their dreams!