Quick as it fell from the broken staff
Dame Barbara grabbed the silken scarf
She leaned far out on the window sill and
Shook it forth with a royal will. "Shoot if you must this old grey head
But spare your country's flag" she said.
A shade of sadness
A touch of shame
Over the face of the leader came.
"Who touches a hair on yon grey head
Dies like a dog
March on!" he said.

Barbara Fritchie