Lamps

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Lamps

Sonnet

At the downing hour of the crimson curtains of dusk,
When the flaming sky-torch renews its quest to seek
A partner flame of equal splendour’s company
In the bowels of night forages for better destiny.

To the tree-sheltered haunt of familiar walls I return,
After affairs in the careless light of an indifferent sun.
The last drops of dying dusk-light have bled away,
Now the hooded forces of night shall hold sway.

Everywhere the pall of black and the sombre mood;
I see the twin flame bereft lamps stand like the blind,
A wick I picked, tiny imperceptible and hardly seen,
Dipped it into my breast deep to the flame within.

The wick caught a fireling and I withdrew my hand,
Now my lamps finely fire-crowned do proudly stand.