<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="" class="head">Renascence</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">THERE is a stirring in the woods</p><p class="line">Has not been heard these many Springs,</p><p class="line">A pulsing eagerness as broods</p><p class="line">The dawn about awaking things.</p><p class="line">And signs are on the little hills</p><p class="line">That take the sun while yet on high</p><p class="line">The mighty peaks, whose grandeur fills</p><p class="line">The noon, are muffled in the sky.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">There is a murmur 'neath the noise</p><p class="line">Of cities and the common crowd.</p><p class="line">As though some elfin under-voice</p><p class="line">Sang thro' the buzz and discord loud;</p><p class="line">And songs above the red alarms</p><p class="line">Of bitter War rise clear and free.</p><p class="line">As in the cruel shock of arms</p><p class="line">Trembled a sweet expectancy.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Once, in the days of barren Art,</p><p class="line">When ebbed the tioe of Beauty's pow'r.</p><p class="line">Nature bestirred a poet's heart</p><p class="line">To give the world a passioned hour;</p><p class="line">And such an hou; is trembling sure</p><p class="line">O'er this our weary day and long,</p><p class="line">To bring our sicken'd souls a cure</p><p class="line">With a new ministry of Song.</p></div><p>Flanders, 1917.</p></body></html> · Great War