O bitter wind toward the sunset blowing, <br />What of the dales tonight? <br />In yonder gray old hall what fires are glowing, <br />What ring of festal lights? <br /> <br /> <br />In the great window as the day was dwindling <br />I saw an old man stand; <br />His head was proudly held and his eyes kindling, <br />But the list shook in his hand.' <br /> <br /> <br />O wind of twilight, was there no word uttered, <br />No sound of joy or wail? <br /> <br />'A great fight and a good death,' he muttered; <br />'Trust him, he would not fail.'' <br /> <br /> <br />What of the chamber dark where she was lying <br />For whom all life is done? <br /> <br />'Within her heart she rocks a dead child, crying <br />'My son, my little son.''<br /><br />Sir Henry Newbolt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-only-son-2/
