11 FEBRUARY 1944, Page 9

BATTLE-FIELD

ACROSS the meadow and the stream,

The phantom of a winter's dream, Her raiment shining and her face A star within the moon's embrace, She floated on the night's deep glance As softly as the snows advance.

The fountain of tile stars, the spray Of astral and of lunar ray Lit frost upon the meadow there ; The Heap of Death rose great with fear ; There shining bright the stars revealed Her in a blood-red mantle veiled.

When lain beats crystal in the night

Still, when the moon is frozen bright

Like sour green silver fruit, and down The furrow waves a golden crown, They say the fleeting shade of her Is sadder than the evening star.

DIANA JAMES.