The Guards Came Through, and Other Poems

by Arthur Conan Doyle

And as I listen, all the garden fair

Darkens to plains of misery and death,

And, looking past the roses, I see there

Those sordid furrows with the rising breath

Of all things foul and black. My heart is hot

Within me as I view it, and I cry,

“Better the misery of these men's lot

Than all the peace that comes to such as I!”

And strange that in the pauses of the sound