In Time of "The Breaking of Nations"


Only a man harrowing clods
     In a slow silent walk
With an old horse that stumbles and nods
     Half asleep as they stalk.


Only thin smoke without flame
      From the heaps of couch-grass;
Yet this will go onward the same
      Though Dynasties pass.


 Yonder a maid and her wight
      Come whispering by:
War's annals will cloud into night
      Ere their story die.