Children’s Ward
By Hortense Flexner
(In “The Survey.”)
She had been sent for—visiting hours were past—
The Lithuanian woman with the blue,
Still eyes. The child’s bed was the last
In the row. She stood beside it, white—she knew,
And watched! Her broad, young shoulders drooped
Beneath the hooded gown that visitors wear;
The nurse had left her—suddenly she stooped,
The hood slipped back and showed her braided hair.
There was no cry. The Russians weep and pray,
Italians beat their breasts. This mother turned,
Asked for his clothes—tearless and calm and gray—
The doctor told her they had all been burned.
So she was gone—only her great eyes said
What thing is lost, when a small child is dead!