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 fade into night
Ere their story die.
(Thomas Hardy)

Read Full Post »