17 MARCH 1944, Page 11

SPRING IN WAR-TIME

YESTERDAY,

Stark Winter crossed the fields with death; And paralysed the stirring trees With cruel breath.

And Spring was in an iron tower Upon the hill, when snow came down With silent power, In secrecy, to bury all The mounds of shovelled earth, by night ; And cover all the wounds of war In stainless white.

The waiting moon, Stared down upon the captive land, Upon the dark and troubled sea That washed the sand with waves of blood,

Till Spring arose from bitterness—

Now each grim wood Is loud with song and branched with light, And men, grown fearless in the sun, Forget the night.

PHOEBE HESKETH.