TOWNS there were in Flanders, Towns in Argonne; Like meadow-water, Quiet in the sun. You know what befell them, Their aged, their young, And how were put to silence Carillons that swung. When I reach Paradise I shall seek a row Of little towns of Flanders, That perished, as you know. There, at simple door-steps, Safe, every one, I shall see old folk And children in the sun. Lost things, trinkets, Carillons a-chime, I look to find them, All in good time. |