In Time of ‘The Breaking of Nations’

Only a man harrowing clods In a slow silent walk, And behind him, with a loitering tread, A crippled soul in the talk.

Fighting for care, till a silence grows, In the souls of a moving land, And a distant yet splendored comatose, Lies beneath this proud demand.

But anon on the edge where a soft breeze calls, I feel her breath like the sun. I know that the heart of nature never stalls, But welcomes each day as one.

• Thomas Hardy