Hugh Walpole

A Prayer for my Son Hugh Walpole

My homeward course led up a long ascent, Where the road's watery surface, to the top Of that sharp rising, glittered to the moon And bore the semblance of another stream Stealing with silent lapse to join the brook That murmured in the vale. All else was still: No living thing appeared in earth or air, And, save the flowing water's peaceful voice, Sound there was none-but lo! an uncouth shape...