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There were three colors in the banner bright
On which the maidens stitched and stitched all day.
Their needles glanced, for with the morning light
Each saw her hero-lover march away.


Save one the maidens stitch with fond proud haste;
And her they chide, "Why do thy fingers lag?
Think but how fair will gleam, by farm and waste,
The red and white and blue of their loved flag."


The maiden lifted neither hands nor eyes:
"The red of flowing blood I see," she said,
"The white of faces upturned to the skies,
The blue of heaven wide above the dead."