Charlotte Mew

May, 1915

          Let us remember Spring will come again
                    To the scorched, blackened woods, where all the wounded trees
          Wait, with their old wise patience for the heavenly rain,
      Sure of the sky: sure of the sea to send its healing breeze,
                  Sure of the sun. And even as to these
                              Surely the Spring, when God shall please
                  Will come again like a divine surprise
To those who sit to-day with their great Dead, hands in their hands, eyes in their eyes,
At one with Love, at one with Grief: blind to the scattered things and changing skies.