Frederick George Scott



A Grave in Flanders

All night the tall trees overhead
    Are whispering to the stars;
Their roots are wrapped about the dead
    And hide the hideous scars.

The tide of war goes rolling by,

    The legions sweep along;
And daily in the summer sky
    The birds will sing their song.

No place is this for human tears,
    The time for tears is done;

Transfigured in these awful years,
    The two worlds blend in one.

This boy had visions while in life
    Of stars on distant skies,
So death came in the midst of strife

    A sudden, glad surprise.

He found the songs for which he yearned,
    Hopes that had mocked desire;
His heart is resting now, which burned
    With such consuming fire.


So down the ringing road we pass,
    And leave him where he fell.
The guardian trees, the waving grass,
    The birds will love him well.
St. Jans Capelle, 1915. [Page 64]