Under the Red Cross

She came and went as comes and goes   A fragrance in the morning air, Where lay the shadowy shapes of those       Who died in her sweet care. Some doubted, when her face had flown,   Whether it was or only seemed,— Whether one saw what he had known       Or something he had dreamed. And near a trampled field at night   Wan eyes, still following her afar, Saw round that head a saintlier light       Than came from moon or star. The wreck, the roar, the murk, the glare   Were nought to her; she simply knew God’s broken images were there       Where healing hands were few.