Thorpe Langton this afternoon: In Time of ‘The Breaking of Nations’

I

Only a man harrowing clods

In a slow silent walk

With an old horse that stumbles and nods

Half asleep as they stalk. 

II

Only thin smoke without flame

From the heaps of couch-grass;

Yet this will go onward the same

Though Dynasties pass. 

III

Yonder a maid and her wight

Come whispering by:

War’s annals will cloud into night

Ere their story die.