This page has been validated.
John Eugene Crombie
The Shrine
THE first bright spears have pierced the armoured brown,
Broadened and drooped, and snowdrops speck the field:
The lengthening gaze of daylight looking down
Is shocked to see the hedge-row winter sealed
Sleeping in nakedness, and stirs her frame
And with the hawthorn bids her hide her shame.
Returning through the fields at evening hour
I lay before Thy shrine my offering,
My candle-flame a yellow crocus flower,
Its life but newly lit to Thee I bring
In thanks that I can see Thy guiding hand
In every flower that decorates the land.
Billets, France, March, 1917.
49
