Plea

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Plea

Sonnet

A vast gymnasium is this Thy world,
For steeling souls with a rigour cold.
Pitiless the regimen by day and night,
Always to crash and grapple in fight.

Is there no remit, a pause to breathe,
Succour of wine our wounds to sheath?
A bugle sounds at droop of brow,
Egging combatants when we are slow.

O Master, in dream too we train the self,
Abhor the plans of the devious elf.
Is there no respite in Thine empire,
Of light and force our limbs to inspire?

O Master mine, O reluctant Divine,
Lend us a Sun from endless infinity Thine.