by
                Ella Wheeler Wilcox

FROM land to land, from coast to bloody coast,
Our planet trembles with loud sounds of strife.
The seas are ravaged by a warring host.
The air is filled with menaces to life.
Men talk of nothing but the news of war;
And with the coming of each crimson dawn
Come new calamities and horrors, for
Events are shaped by what minds feed upon.

As in a nightmare we unheeding hear
That which awake would fill us with affright.
The woes of earth fall dully on mine ear.
Nor am I moved by its appalling plight.
For all these things seem trivial beside
This monstrous fact One night in May you died.