On Judges’ Walk
by Arthur Symons

That night on Judges’ Walk, the wind
Was as the voice of doom;
The Heath, a lake of darkness, lay
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 on Judges’ Walk,
We walked beneath the trees,
There was a word we could not say,
Half uttered in the breeze,
That night on Judges’ Walk we said
No word at all,
And now no word shall e’er be said
Before the Judgment Day.