<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=428579" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Red Cross Nurse</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">ONE summer day, gleaming in memory,<br>We drove, my Joy and I,<br>Through fragrant hawthorn lanes<br>Gold-fringed with wisps of rye<br>Brushed off the harvest wains,<br>From that old, gladsome town of Shrewsbury,<br>Throned on twin hills and girdled by a loop<br>Of the brown Severn, out to Battlefield.<br>Henry the Fourth with his usurping sword<br>Smote here the haughty Percies,<br>And after builded here, as due to Him<br>Who made rebellion stoop<br>And lesser traitors to chief traitor yield,<br>A church. Decayed, restored,<br>Its centuries afford.<br>To stranger eyes, enshadowed by the view<br>Of that ridged burial plain from which it grew,<br>No sight more sacred than a crude<br>Image of visage dim,<br>Hewn by some ancient tool from forest wood,<br>Our Lady of the Mercies.<br>Even so long ago amid the slaughter,<br>Hushed now beneath its coverlet of flowers,<br>Groped this imperfect dream<br>Of Pity, pure, divine.<br>Madonna, look to-day upon thy daughter<br>And know her by the crimson cross, the sign<br>Of love that shall at last, at last redeem<br>This war-torn world of ours</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Katharine+Lee+Bates">Katharine Lee Bates</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=428579" data-title="The Red Cross Nurse de Katharine Lee Bates" data-description="ONE summer day, gleaming in memory, We drove, my Joy and I, Through fragrant hawthorn lanes Gold-fringed with wisps of rye Brushed off the harvest wains, From that old, gladsome town of Shrewsbury, Throned on twin hills and girdled by a loop Of th..."></div> </div> </div>

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