Poem: Wiglaf

Close-Up of Durham Cathedral Sanctuary Knocker

Photo by Nick Boreham

The last of us, my sleeping aged king,

The last of us, and mine is hero’s work:

Defending my expired kingdom, bound

To wander weaponless beneath the kirk.

Enshrined in splendour’s shadow, ravens caw

And banquet on the scores of unburnt dead;

O where’s the hand that guided us before,

For whose heroic fame we fought and bled?

Inside my sodden castle, dripping dew–

These hanging roots my chandeliers then–

There I, bethroned upon a hostile stump,

Bestow effulgent gold to absent men.

Immortal honour gilds your holy name

In glory–ours to rust, to waste, the same.

One thought on this article.

  1. Alex Shipton says:

    I love this!

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