STRIFE.

Weary of strife —

The surge and clash of city life —

I sought for peace in solitude,

Within the hushed and darkened wood

And on the lonesome moor —

But found contending leaf and root

Engaged in conflict fierce though mute,

While what was frail was slain

By what was strong in dire dispute —

I sought for peace in vain!

The world, sustained by strife, endures in pain.

“All things that are in conflict be,”

I murmured on the shelving strand,

Where struggling winds would fain be free —

The tides in conflict with the wind's command,

Turned tossing, wearily —

I heard the loud sea labouring to the land —

I saw the dumb land striving with the sea.