Advent Poetry
One of the things that happened at this years delightful Advent by Candlelight (of which more in next month's edition) is that two poems were read in memory of Margaret Stanier which she herself had chosen to read at the same event in 2004. Margaret was a much loved and respected member of our community, a most effective bell-captain, and an expert on sundials, but nobody realised she had talents in another direction: detective work by Elizabeth Everitt has revealed that this poem is not a Belloc poem, but rather a Belloc compilation by Margaret herself.
Hilaire Belloc - On Sundials
I am a sundial, and I make a botch
Of what is done far better by a watch.
Save on the rare occasions when the Sun
Is shining, I am only here for fun.
Here in a lonely glade, forgotten, I
Mark the tremendous process of the sky.
So does your inmost soul, forgotten, mark
The Dawn, the Noon, the coming of the Dark.
How slow the Shadow creeps: but when 'tis past
How fast the Shadows fall. How fast! How fast!
In soft deluding lies let fools delight,
A Shadow marks our days; which end in Night.
Stealthily the silent hours advance, and still;
And each day may wound you, and the last shall kill!
The not so poetic editors can add another Bellocism: I am a sundial, turned the wrong way round. I cost my foolish mistress fifty pounds.