A flag at half-mast means mourning.
"The Handy Cyclopedia of Things Worth Knowing" by Joseph Triemens
His little old master was half asleep but he whacked his tambourine and whined his mournful song without a pause.
"Jane Journeys On" by Ruth Comfort Mitchell
One was middle-aged, or thereabouts; the other young; both were dressed in half-mourning.
"She and I, Volume 1" by John Conroy Hutcheson
Lawrence drew his sleeve back from his thin arm, gazed at it mournfully, and then looked up in a wistful half-laughing way at his two friends.
"Yussuf the Guide" by George Manville Fenn
The older woman no longer wore black; it had become too depressing in a continent where more than half of the women were in mourning.
"The Red Cross Girls with the Russian Army" by Margaret Vandercook
Arranging her dress, she looked a moment, with half-mournful curiosity, at the pale, small face reflected in the mirror.
"Olive A Novel" by Dinah Maria Craik, (AKA Dinah Maria Mulock)
Half-mourning was to her most becoming.
"Little Journeys to the Homes of the Great, Vol. 13" by Elbert Hubbard
You don't believe he has ever really known half the people he mourns, do you?
"The Big Drum" by Arthur Pinero
But of the dead we count, year by year, more than double the number that filled half Britain with mourning.
"Select Temperance Tracts" by American Tract Society
And surely grey is what is known as 'half-mourning' too, is it not?
"The Orchard of Tears" by Sax Rohmer
While daffodils, half mournful still,
Muffle their golden bells,
Thy silvery peal o'er landscape chill
Surges, and sinks, and swells.
"A March Minstrel" by Alfred Austin
And once again the organ swells,
Once more the flag is half-way hung,
And yet again the mournful bells
In all thy steeple-towers are rung.
"Sumner" by John Greenleaf Whittier
Then, when their sacrilegious gaze
The mournful void hath half surmised,
To some more tender soul they raise
The veil of ignorance it prized.
"The Door Of Humility" by Alfred Austin
Lonely she stood:â€“in her mournful eyes
Lay the clear midnight of southern skies,
And the drooping fringe of their lashes low,
Half veil'd a depth of unfathom'd wo.
"The Sicilian Captive" by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
I see, just see, skyward, great cloud-masses;
Mournfully, slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing;
With, at times, a half-dimm'd, sadden'd, far-off star,
Appearing and disappearing.
"Whispers Of Heavenly Death" by Walt Whitman
How mournfully it echoes on,
For half the world is Macedon!
These brethren to their brethren call,
And by the Love which loved them all,
And by the whole world's Life they cry,
'O ye that live, behold we die!'
"Hymns For The Day Of Intercession. II. For Missions To The Heathen" by Samuel John Stone