Farewell, fair day and fading light!
The clay-born here, with westward sight,
Marks the huge sun now downward soar.
Farewell. We twain shall meet no more.
Farewell. I watch with bursting sigh
My late contemned occasion die.
I linger useless in my tent:
Farewell, fair day, so foully spent!
Farewell, fair day. If any God
At all consider this poor clod,
He who the fair occasion sent
Prepared and placed the impediment.
Let him diviner vengeance take -
Give me to sleep, give me to wake
Girded and shod, and bid me play
The hero in the coming day!
(Robert Louis Stevenson.)
Note: When I first read this poem I thought it said Robert Frost, then I read it again and see that it is not only not by Robert Frost, but it is much about death, perhaps even war. Perhaps not the nuance I was seeking.
(Robert Louis Stevenson.)
Note: When I first read this poem I thought it said Robert Frost, then I read it again and see that it is not only not by Robert Frost, but it is much about death, perhaps even war. Perhaps not the nuance I was seeking.
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