Tired of man's futile, petty cry,
   Of lips that lie and flout,
I saw the slow sun dim and die
   And the slim dusk slip out . . .
   Life held no room for doubt.

What though Death claim the ones I prize
   In War's insane crusade,
Last night I saw Orion rise
   And the great day-star fade,
   And I am not dismayed.