THAT night on Judges’ 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 Judges’ Walk we said
No word of all we had to say;
But now there shall be no word said
Before the Judge’s Day.