Orphans Of Flanders

Where is the land that fathered, nourished, poured The sap of a strong race into your veins, Land of wide tilth, of farms and granaries stored, Of old towers chiming over peaceful plains? It is become a vision, barred away Like light in cloud, a memory and belief. On those lost plains the Glory of yesterday Builds her dark towers for the bells of Grief. It is become a splendour--circled name For all the world; a torch against the skies Burns on that blood--spot, the unpardoned shame Of them that conquered: but your homeless eyes See rather some brown pond by a white wall, Red cattle crowding in the rutty lane, A garden where the hollyhocks were tall In the Augusts that shall never be again. There your thoughts cling as the long--thrusting root Clings in the ground; your orphaned hearts are there. O mates of sunburnt earth, your love is mute But strong like thirst and deeper than despair. You have endured what pity can but grope To feel: into that darkness enters none. We have but hands to help; yours is the hope Whose courage rises silent with the sun.