THE VIRGIN OF ALBERT

(NOTRE DAME DE BREBIERES)


Shyly expectant, gazing up at Her,
  They linger, Gaul and Briton, side by side:
  Death they know well, for daily have they died,
Spending their boyhood ever bravelier;
They wait: here is no priest or chorister,
  Birds skirt the stricken tower, terrified;
  Desolate, empty, is the Eastertide,
Yet still they wait, watching the Babe and Her.

Broken, the Mother stoops: the brutish foe
  Hurled with dull hate his bolts, and down She swayed,
Down, till She saw the toiling swarms below,--
  Platoons, guns, transports, endlessly arrayed:
"Women are woe for them! let Me be theirs,
And comfort them, and hearken all their prayers!"

_George Herbert Clarke_

Home.
Mystery destination!

(Friday, 03 July, 2026.)