A singer once, I now am fain to weep,
Within my soul I feel strange music swell,
Vast chants of tragedy too deep—too deep
For my poor lips to tell.
There is a stern and darkly passionate protest in the sonnet, 'Judgment,' against the senseless waste and carnage that is making the world desolate, and the same protest is voiced powerfully and as bitterly in 'Who Made the Law?' which was also found with his papers after his death:
Who made the Law that men should die in meadows?
Who spake the word that blood should splash in lanes?
Who gave it forth that gardens should be bone-yards?
Who spread the hills with flesh, and blood, and brains?
Who made the Law?
Who made the Law that Death should stalk the village?
Who spake the word to kill among the sheaves?
Who gave it forth that Death should lurk in hedgerows?
Who flung the dead among the fallen leaves?
Who made the Law?...
But a happier spirit breathes through such
