 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
THE BRAVEST BATTLE
Shall I tell you where and when?
On the maps of the world you will find it not;
It was fought by by the mothers of men.
With sword or braver pen;
Nay, not with eloquent word or thought,
From mouths of wonderful men.
Of woman that would not yield,
But patiently, silently bore her part—
Lo! there in that battle-field.
No banners to gleam and wave;
And oh! these battles they last so long—
From babyhood to the grave!
She fights in her walled-up town—
Fights on and on in the endless wars,
Then silent, unseen—goes down.
A few years ago, when living in my log cabin, Washington, some ladies came to inform me that I had been chosen to write a poem for the unveiling of an equestrian statue of a hero, the hero of “The bravest battles that ever were fought.”
When they had delivered their message I told them that the beautiful city was being disfigured by these pitiful monuments to strife, not one in forty being fit works of art, and that I hoped and believed that the last one of these would be condemned to the scrap heap within the next century. I reminded them that while nearly every city in the Union had more or less of these monstrosities I had seen but one little figure in honor of woman; that of a crude bit of granite to the memory of a humble baker woman in a back street of New Orleans, who gave away bread to the poor. I finally told them, however, that if they would come back next morning I would have a few lines about “The bravest battles that ever were fought.”
One of them came, got the few lines, but they were not read at the unveiling. However, they were read later in New York, by a New Orleans
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |