The carillons are hush’d; still is the night,
And footsteps echo on the cobble-stones.
With faces drawn, under the cold lamp light,
A group of women talk in muffled tones.
Above them, twisted sadly round its pole,
Hangs a limp flag of Belgian colours three;
And there with one another they condole,
Sharing their grief with love and sympathy.
The black canal glides noiselessly along
Under the lonely bridge; and stars are bright.
Perhaps, somewhere among the twinkling throng,
Queen Astrid’s soul to Heav’n has added light.
What do you think of the poem? (Please also read The Broken Rose on King Albert I).
(Photo: Han-sur-Lesse at night, in the public domain. I know it is not Bruges but it was the best I could do).