<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="" class="head">The Shrine</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">THE first bright spears have pierced the armoured brown.</p><p class="line">Broadened and drooped, and snowdrops speck the field:</p><p class="line">The lengthening gaze of daylight looking down</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">Is shocked to see the hedge-row winter sealed</p><p class="line">Sleeping in nakedness, and stirs her frame</p><p class="line">And with the hawthorn bids her hide her shame.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Returning through the fields at evening hour</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">I lay before Thy shrine my offering.</p><p class="line">My candle-flame a yellow crocus flower,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:5%">Its life but newly lit to Thee I bring</p><p class="line">In thanks that I can see Thy guiding hand</p><p class="line">In every flower that decorates the land.</p></div><p>Billets, France, March, 1917.</p></body></html> · Great War