Arthur Stringer

Destiny

HE sat behind his roses and did wake
 With wanton hands those passions grim
That naught but bitter tears and blood can slake,
 And naught but years can dim.

So o'er their wine did Great Ones sit and nod,
 Ordaining War . . . . as it befell:
Men drunk with drum and trumpet mouthed of God
 And reeled down blood-washed roads to Hell!