In a Belgian Garden and Other Poems

<SPAN name="bruges"></SPAN> <h3> The Lace-Maker of Bruges<br/> </h3> <p class="poem"> Her age-worn hands upon her apron lie<br/> <SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Idle and still. Against the sunset glow</SPAN><br/> <SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Tall poplars stand and silent barges go</SPAN><br/> Along the green canal that wanders by.<br/> A lean, red finger pointing to the sky,<br/> <SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The spire of Notre Dame. Above a row</SPAN><br/> Of dim, gray arches where the sunbeams die,<br/> <SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The ancient belfry guards the square below.</SPAN><br/></p> <p class="poem"> One August eve she stood in that same square<br/> <SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And gazed and listened, proud beneath her tears,</SPAN><br/> <SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 2em">To see her soldier passing down the street.</SPAN><br/> To-night the beat of drums and trumpets' blare<br/> <SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">With bursts of fiendish music smite her ears,</SPAN><br/> <SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 2em">And mingle with the tread of trampling feet.</SPAN><br/></p> <br/><br/><br/> <h5> W. BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND </h5> <br/><br/><br/><br/> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />