5 FEBRUARY 1916, Page 14

POETRY.

THE REFUGEES.

PAST the marching men, where the great road runs, Out of burning Ypres three pale women came : One was a widow (listen to the guns l)—

She wheeled a heaped-up barrow. One walked lame And dragged two little children at her side, Tired and coughing with the dust. The third Nestled a dead child on her breast, and tried To suckle him. They never spoke a word. . . .

So they came down along the great Ypres road: A soldier stayed his mirth to watch them pass, Turned, and in silence helped them with their load, And led them to a field and gave them bread . . .

I saw them hide their faces in the grass And cry, as women cried when Christ was dead.

W. G. S.