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Poem by Henry Newbolt

The Only Son

O Bitter wind toward the sunset blowing,
  What of the dales to-night?
In yonder gray old hall what fires are glowing,
  What ring of festal light?

    "In the great window as the day was dwindling
      I saw an old man stand;
    His head was proudly held and his eyes kindling,
      But the list shook in his hand."

O wind of twilight, was there no word uttered,
  No sound of joy or wail?
"'A great fight and a good death,' he muttered;
  'Trust him, he would not fail.'"

What of the chamber dark where she was lying;
  For whom all life is done?
"Within her heart she rocks a dead child, crying
  'My son, my ltttle son.'"

Henry Newbolt

Henry Newbolt's other poems:
  1. The Quarter-Gunner's Yarn
  2. Northumberland
  3. The Non-Combatant
  4. The School at War
  5. Waggon Hill

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Rudyard Kipling The Only Son ("She dropped the bar, she shot the bolt, she fed the fire anew")

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