Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. You can also use the up (↑) and down (↓) arrows to move a line one place at a time, or the top (⇑) and bottom (⇓) arrows to move a line directly to the top or bottom. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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Whence all but him had fled;
If yet my task is done?
They caught the flag on high,
That Father, faint in death below,
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
His voice no longer heard.
Speak, Father!" once again he cried
Without his Father's word;
There came a burst of thunder sound—
Shone round him o'er the dead.
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
The boy stood on the burning deck
And shouted but once more aloud,
The wreathing fires made way,
The boy—oh! where was he?
He knew not that the chieftain lay
In still yet brave despair.
Was that young faithful heart!
Like banners in the sky.
That well had borne their part—
Unconscious of his son.
And streamed above the gallant child,
And fast the flames roll'd on.
A creature of heroic blood,
But the noblest thing which perished there
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
Ask of the winds that far around
And in his waving hair,
As born to rule the storm;
My Father, must I stay?
If I may yet begone!
A proud, though child-like form.
With fragments strewed the sea!
And looked from that lone post of death,
He call'd aloud:—"Say, Father, say
And"—but the booming shots replied,
The flames roll'd on—he would not go
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
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You've successfully reconstructed the poem! Your understanding of poetry and attention to detail is impressive.
The boy stood on the burning deck Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm; A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though child-like form.
The flames roll'd on—he would not go Without his Father's word; That Father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard.
He call'd aloud:—"Say, Father, say If yet my task is done?" He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son.
"Speak, Father!" once again he cried "If I may yet begone! And"—but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames roll'd on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death, In still yet brave despair.
And shouted but once more aloud, "My Father, must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way,
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child, Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder sound— The boy—oh! where was he? Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea!
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part— But the noblest thing which perished there Was that young faithful heart!