I <br /> <br />Last year I called this world of gain-givings <br />The darkest thinkable, and questioned sadly <br />If my own land could heave its pulse less gladly, <br />So charged it seemed with circumstance whence springs <br /> The tragedy of things. <br /> <br />II <br /> <br />Yet at that censured time no heart was rent <br />Or feature blanched of parent, wife, or daughter <br />By hourly blazoned sheets of listed slaughter; <br />Death waited Nature's wont; Peace smiled unshent <br /> From Ind to Occident.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-the-war-office-london-affixing-the-lists-of-k/
