The Candle

by WALTER DE LA MARE

DAY onto day
Life wastes and wanes,
Like a candle
Burning its wax away,
Till nought but charred wick
Remains.

Well, content would I be,
With a flame as still,
Some glint to have given
Whereby one who can see
Might work his inscrutable
Will:

If, perchance, long eternities
Hence, that strange mind
Might in trance
Of far-brooding memory turn,
To light me one instant — else
Blind.