  THAT night on Judge’s Walk the wind Was as the voice of doom; The heath, a lake of darkness, lay As silent as the tomb. The vast night brooded, white with stars, Above the world’s unrest; The awfulness of silence ached Like a strong heart repressed. That night we walked beneath the trees, Alone, beneath the trees; There was some word we could not say Half uttered in the breeze. That night on Judge’s Walk we said No word of all we had to say; And now no word shall e’er be said Before the Judgment Day. |
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