<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">A Flemish Village</h1><p class="byline"> H. A. <br xmlns:exist="http://exist.sourceforge.net/NS/exist" xmlns:html="http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40"/><span class="smallcaps">IN London Spectator</span></p><div class="stanza"><p class="line">GONE is the spire that slept for centuries,</p><p class="line">Whose image in the water, calm and low, </p><p class="line">Was mingled with the lilies green and snow, </p><p class="line">And lost itself in river mysteries. </p><p class="line">The church lies broken near the fallen spire; </p><p class="line">For here, among these old and human things </p><p class="line">Death swept along the street with feet of fire, </p><p class="line">And went upon his way with moaning wings. </p><p class="line">Above the cluster of these homes forlorn, </p><p class="line">Where giant fleeces of the shells are rolled, </p><p class="line">O'er pavements by the kneeling herdsmen worn, </p><p class="line">The wounded saints look out to see their fold.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">.And silence follows fast, no evening peace, </p><p class="line">But leaden stillness, when the thunder wanes, </p><p class="line">Haunting the slender branches of the trees</p><p class="line">And settling low upon the listless plains </p></div></body></html> · Great War