Again the quiet grassy road I see
    By rock and fern down-sloping to the mere,
    Again with joy the Dunna-beck I hear
Chanting its ancient song of liberty;
The robin from the twilight in the tree
    Lets loose his careless carol far and near,
    While overhead the calm white moon doth
And sunset’s galleon-clouds of gold go free.

But I am a prisoner to dark sorrowful thought,
    And even in this most dear sequester’d spot
        I cannot wander to the fields of peace;
    All day I hear the scream of shell and shot,
All night I dream what havoc war hath wrought
        Where league-long battles raging cannot

(The European War 1914-1915 Poems, p. 97)