I br br Last year I called this world of gain-givings br The darkest thinkable, and questioned sadly br If my own land could heave its pulse less gladly, br So charged it seemed with circumstance whence springs br    The tragedy of things. br br II br br Yet at that censured time no heart was rent br Or feature blanched of parent, wife, or daughter br By hourly blazoned sheets of listed slaughter; br Death waited Nature's wont; Peace smiled unshent br    From Ind to Occident.