The Beacon

BURN there, lone candle, on the window sill,
Burn there against the fierceness of the night,
That they immersed in darkness on the hill,
Like divers in a glassy element,
May go less fearful for one ray of light.
Night-weary now, alone and deeply spent,
With candlelight I tempt the house to sleep,
Yet will myself rest upright in my chair —
Waking and watchful will this vigil keep.
For should winds snuff the candle burning there,
And no light on the unlatched door be shed,
The mind it self must in the darkness make
A beacon flare until the night be dead;
Until the lost return — or morning break.