Of what concern are wars to her,
     Or treaties broken on the seas?
Or all the cruelties of men?
     She has her baby on her knees.

In blessed singleness of heart,
     What heed has she for nations’ wrath?
She sings a little peaceful hymn
     As she prepares the baby’s bath.

As in a dream, she hears the talk
     Of mine, torpedo, bomb and gun—
She shudders, but her thoughts are all
     Encradled with her little son.