| George Herbert Clarke, ed. (1873–1953). A Treasury of War Poetry. 1917. |
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| 74. The Virgin of Albert |
| | | Notre Dame de Brebières |
| | | By George Herbert Clarke |
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| SHYLY expectant, gazing up at Her, | |
| They linger, Gaul and Briton, side by side: | |
| Death they know well, for daily have they died, | |
| Spending their boyhood ever bravelier; | |
| They wait: here is no priest or chorister, | 5 |
| Birds skirt the stricken tower, terrified; | |
| Desolate, empty, is the Eastertide, | |
| Yet still they wait, watching the Babe and Her. | |
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| Broken, the Mother stoops: the brutish foe | |
| Hurled with dull hate his bolts, and down She swayed, | 10 |
| Down, till She saw the toiling swarms below,— | |
| Platoons, guns, transports, endlessly arrayed: | |
| “Women are woe for them! let Me be theirs, | |
| And comfort them, and hearken all their prayers!” | |
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