Sunday Letter: A Rondel

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I.
When, in the mid-sea of the night,
I waken at thy call, O Lord,
The first that troop my bark aboard
Are darksome imps that hate the light,
Whose tongues are arrows, eyes a blight—
Of wraths and cares a pirate horde—
Though on the mid-sea of the night
It was thy call that waked me, Lord.

Then I must to my arms and fight—
Catch up my shield and two-edged sword,
The words of him who is thy word—
Nor cease till they are put to flight;
Then in the mid-sea of the night
I turn and listen for thee, Lord.

—George MacDonald, Poetical Works, Vol II

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This is one of two rondels by MacDonald that Robert Lous Stevenson praised.
(out of town this weekend, so comments are limited)

{ιμκ☩}

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