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FOR FRANCE

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FOR FRANCE

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She had been stricken, sorely, ere this came;

⁠And now they wrote that he, her boy, was dead—

⁠Her only one! Through blinding tears she read,

Trying to see what followed his dear name.

⁠He had died "gloriously," the letter said,

"Guarding the Tricolor from touch of shame

Where raged the battle furious and wild."

⁠Catching her breath, she stayed despair's advance.

She was a mother; but, besides—a child

⁠Of France!

And after, though remembrance of past years

⁠Dulled not to her fond vision nor grew dim;

⁠Though every slightest incident of him

Was treasured in her breast, she shed no tears.

⁠Her cup was full now, even to the brim,

And for herself she knew nor hopes nor fears.

So, toiling patiently, with noble pride

⁠And lifted head she met each pitying glance,

She was the mother of a son who died—

⁠For France!

—Florence Earle Coates

Patriotic pieces from the Great War

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