<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">The Convent Garden</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line"><span class="smallcaps">The</span> Convent garden lies so near</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">The road the people go,</p><p class="line">If it was quiet you might hear</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">The nuns' talk, merry and low.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Black London trees have made their screen</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">From folk who pry and peer,</p><p class="line">The sooty sparrows now begin</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">Their talk of country cheer.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">And round and round by twos and threes</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">The nuns walk, praying still</p><p class="line">For fighting men across the seas</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">Who die to save them ill.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">From the dear prison of her choice</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">The young nun's thoughts are far;</p><p class="line">She muses on the golden boys</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">At all the Fronts of War.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Now from her narrow Convent house</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">She sees where great ships be,</p><p class="line">And plucks the robe of God, her Spouse,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">To give the victory.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Under her robe her heart's a-beat,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">Her maiden pulses stir,</p><p class="line">At sound of marching in the street,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">To think they die for her!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">And now beneath the veil and hood</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">Her hidden eyes will glow,</p><p class="line">The battle ardour's in her blood --</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">If she might strike one blow!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">And when she sleeps at last perchance</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">Her soul hath slipped away</p><p class="line">To fields of Serbia and of France</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">Until the dawn of day.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">She wanders by the still moonbeam</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">By dying and by dead,</p><p class="line">And many a broken man will dream</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">An angel lifts his head.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">All day and night as a sweet smoke</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">Her prayer ascends the skies</p><p class="line">That all her piteous fighting folk</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">May walk in Paradise.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">And still her innocent pulses stir,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">Her heart is proud and high,</p><p class="line">To think that men should die for her --</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">And the marching feet go by.</p></div></body></html> · Great War