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Yankee Doodles Net Poetry


    Yankee Doodle/Patriotic Poetry
    Our Dixie

    I heard long since a simple strain;
    It brought no thrill of joy or pain,
    Nor did I care to hear again
    Of Dixie

    But time rolled on, and drum and fife
    Gave token of a coming strife,
    And called our youth to soldier life
    In Dixie

    And so our treasures, one by one,
    All by the battlefield were won;
    They heard at morn and setting sun
    Our Dixie.

    Their blood flowed on the fresh green hill,
    It mingled with the mountain rill,
    And poured through vales once calm and still
    In Dixie.

    The living rallied to their stand;
    Their war cry was their "Native Land;"
    But sadder from the lessening band
    Came Dixie.

    Yet still it roused to deeds of fame,
    And made immortal many a name;
    It never caused a blush of shame,
    Our Dixie.

    We may not hear that simple strain
    Ever without a thrill of pain,
    Our dead come back to live again
    With Dixie.

    And if I were a generous foe,
    I'd honor him whose heart's best throe
    Leaped to that music soft and low,
    Our Dixie.

    - Anonymous


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