I had no thought of violets of late, The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet In wistful April days, when lovers mate And wander through the fields in raptures sweet. The thought of violets meant florists' shops, And bows and pins,... Read more of Sonnet at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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The Searchlights
Political morality differs from individual morality, because ...

U S Destroyer _osmond C Ingram_
If you were standing on the deck of a patrol boat watching fo...

A Carol From Flanders
1914 In Flanders on the Christmas morn The trench...

The Thirteenth Regiment
The World War has shown clearly that all peoples are not alik...

Joyce Kilmer
The first poet and author in the American army to give up his...

Why The United States Entered The War
The United States was slow to enter the war, because her peop...

The Fleet That Lost Its Soul
Sailors and especially fighters on the sea have in all ages p...

Where Are You Going Great-heart?
Where are you going, Great-Heart, With your eager face...

Where The Tide Turned
It is the general impression that the tide of victory set in ...

Pershing At The Tomb Of Lafayette
They knew they were fighting our war. As the months gr...

Fighting A Depth Bomb
All who have read of the sinking of the Lusitania, by a torpe...

Nations Born And Reborn
In America, and in many other countries, people have listened...

Waiting For The Flash
Not at once can the mind grasp the full significance of the w...

Redeemed Italy
Italy, since 1860 at least, has cherished the dream that some...

Vive La France 1
The determination of the people of Alsace and Lorraine not ...

Trees
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. ...

The Miner And The Tiger
On an October day in 1866, David Lloyd George, then a little ...

The Little Old Road
There's a breath of May in the breeze On the little ol...

The Yank
The boche went into the war as a robber, the poilu as a crusa...

The Capture Of Dun
After the Americans had cleared the Saint Mihiel salient, Mar...



Where The Tide Turned






It is the general impression that the tide of victory set in with
Marshal Foch's splendid movement against the German flank on July 18th.
That movement, it is true, started the irresistible sweep of the wave
which was destined to engulf and destroy the hideous power of
Prussianism. But the tide which gathered and drove forward the waters
out of which that wave arose, had turned before. It turned with and
through the supreme valor of our marines and other American troops in
the first battle at Chateau-Thierry and at Belleau Wood, in the
first week of June.

The American force engaged was small, measured by the standard of
numbers to which we have become accustomed in this war, but the story
of their fighting will remain immortal and in its psychological and
strategic consequences the action will take rank, I believe, among the
decisive battles of the war.

I am not speaking from hearsay. I was in France during the week
preceding that battle, the most anxious and gloomy period, probably, of
the entire war. What I am about to relate is based either on
authoritative information gathered on the spot, or on my own
observations. In telling it, nothing is farther from my thoughts than





Next: To Wish To Take Away One From The Immortal Glory Which Belongs

Previous: When The Tide Turned



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