In Time Of "The Breaking Of Nations"

A poem by Thomas Hardy


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.


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