At the War Office London
Last year I called this world of gain-givings
The darkest thinkable, and questioned sadly
If my own land could heave its pulse less gladly,
So charged it seemed with circumstance whence springs
The tragedy of things.
Yet at that censured time no heart was rent
Or feature blanched of parent, wife, or daughter
By hourly blazoned sheets of listed slaughter;
Death waited Nature's wont; Peace smiled unshent
From Ind to Occident.
by Thomas Hardy
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
More Poems by Thomas Hardy
Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on At the War Office London
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem At the War Office London here.