The battle-smoke still fouled the day, <br /> With bright disaster flaming through; <br />Unchecked, absorbed, she held her way— <br /> The whispering death still past her flew. <br /> <br /> <br />A cross of red was on her sleeve; <br /> And here she stayed, the wound to bind, <br />And there, the fighting soul relieve, <br /> That strove its Unknown Peace to find. <br /> <br /> <br />A cross of red . . . yet one has dreamed <br /> Of her he loved and left in tears; <br />But unto dying sight she seemed <br /> A visitant from other spheres. <br /> <br /> <br />The whispering death—it nearer drew, <br /> It holds her heart in strict arrest . . <br />And where was one, are crosses two— <br /> A crimson cross is on her breast!<br /><br />Edith Matilda Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-red-cross-nurse-2/
