AT THE WAR OFFICE, LONDON
(Affixing the Lists of Killed
: December, 1899)
- Poems of the Past and Present
Last year I called this world
able, and question
If my own land
could heave its pulse
So charged it seemed with circumstance
The tragedy of things.
Yet at that censured time no heart was rent
Or feature blanched of parent, wife, or daughter
By hourly blazoned sheets of listed slaughter;
Death waited Nature's wont; Peace smiled unshent
From Ind to Occident.