 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
55
BY THE FIRE.
I sat beside the log-fire years ago,
And, in the dusk made forecasts by its flare,
Meting the Future out, to each his share,
While danced the restless shadows to and fro.
And, in the dusk made forecasts by its flare,
Meting the Future out, to each his share,
While danced the restless shadows to and fro.
And when at last the yellow flame grew low
And leapt and licked no more, I still sat there
Watching with eyes fast fixed, but mind elsewhere
The darkening crimson of the flameless glow.
And leapt and licked no more, I still sat there
Watching with eyes fast fixed, but mind elsewhere
The darkening crimson of the flameless glow.
And now at dusk, I watch once more to-day
The slowly-sinking flame, the faint dull crash
Of crimson embers deadening into gray;
The slowly-sinking flame, the faint dull crash
Of crimson embers deadening into gray;
But see alone the Past, misspent and rash,
And wasted gifts, and chances thrown away.
The Present and the Future? All is ash.
And wasted gifts, and chances thrown away.
The Present and the Future? All is ash.
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |