NATURE IN WAR-TIME

If flowers could speak

And leaves and plants knew words,

In what strange phrase of chiding would they seek

To tell their anger at this clash of swords!

The blossom that was made for joy and praise,

High bending grasses, and the trees so tall

Tremble for terror in the forest ways.

I see them shake and shake, as live men fall.

Shrapnel crushes them in its fierce caress;

The black guns chant a paean of their skill.

But little recks the world in its distress

The sorrow that is silent on the hill.