Poem: The Poet's Son by Edward Dyson

The day on which the boy was born
   The poet whispered: "See,
This is my son! Here is the morn!
   A new day breaks for me!

"He shall be one to boldly cry
   A message to all men;
He shall succeed for ruth where I
   Drove but a halting pen.

"My boy shall speak with such a voice
   Of mastery that they
Who hear at noon shall have no choice
   But swiftly to obey.

"The careless men shall hear his call
   Above the clangor made
By whirring loom, and mill, and all
   The tumult that is trade.

It was a prophet spake. To-day
   One in the street I heard,
And old and young from work and play
   Were heedful to his word.

His tongue was forceful as the gale;
   His bell moved every one.
He called the people to a sale.
   He was the poet's son!

First published in The Bulletin, 10 April 1919

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