He drew a straight line <br />Across the dirt floor: <br />Within, it was death-still-- <br />Without, was a roar <br />And a scream of the trumpets: <br />Within, was a Word-- <br />And a line drawn clean <br />By the sweep of a sword. <br />No help was coming, now-- <br />That hope was done. <br />No more the free air, <br />no more the sun <br />Bright on the blue leagues <br />Of buffalo-clover. <br />Travis drew a line <br />And they all crossed over. <br />Travis had a wife at home, <br />Travis was young; <br />Travis had a little boy <br />Whose tight arms clung, <br />But Travis saw a far light <br />Shining before: <br />Travis drew a sword-cut <br />Across the dirt floor. <br /> <br />And now the old fort stands <br />Placid and dim, <br />Blinking and dreaming <br />Of them and of him; <br />And now past the Plaza <br />Other tides roar, <br />since Travis wrote "Valor" <br />Across the sand floor, <br />And the guns they will rust, <br />And the captains will go, <br />And an end come at last <br />To the wars that we know, <br />But as long as there travails <br />A Spirit in man, <br />In a war that was ancient <br />Before Time began, <br />Here will the brave come <br />To read a high Word-- <br />Cut clean in the dust <br />By the stroke of a sword.<br /><br />Karle Wilson Baker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/within-the-alamo/
