 | A Sonnet Chronicle |  |
29
The Skiddaw Bonfire
On the Evening of June 26th, 1902.
Here dumb I stand who had so much to say,
Whose heart would be so warm, here stand I cold;
The lingering sun beneath the verge has rolled,
And the long, mellow twilight melts away.
I, who was meant so well to end the day
Of national triumph, sorrowful I hold
Dark commune with dark Skiddaw—fold on fold,
With plains unlit by diamond-bright inlay.
Whose heart would be so warm, here stand I cold;
The lingering sun beneath the verge has rolled,
And the long, mellow twilight melts away.
I, who was meant so well to end the day
Of national triumph, sorrowful I hold
Dark commune with dark Skiddaw—fold on fold,
With plains unlit by diamond-bright inlay.
But, tho' the great stars visit me in turn
To mock me in my grief, I have no shame,
I watch and wait for good that is to be;
The day will dawn whose night has need of me,
My heart shall yet with exultation burn,
And the King's crowning call from flame to flame.
To mock me in my grief, I have no shame,
I watch and wait for good that is to be;
The day will dawn whose night has need of me,
My heart shall yet with exultation burn,
And the King's crowning call from flame to flame.
| A Sonnet Chronicle | |