Sonnet in Chillon by David Dumouriez

(after Byron)

Eternal echo of the restless mind!

I arrived, not a prisoner as such,

But one more known of basics than of much

In sensual terms, and there was I to find,

Within the chilly confines of those stones,

A force, a scent, that called me to obey

And seemed to hold before me an array

Of possibilities, of nameless zones.

I further wore away those steps you’d shone

And matched you close for every swerve and duck

I felt your body make. As these went on,

The more your eyes and interest were my luck,

Till all remains of history were gone

And just the essence of the moment struck.

About the Poet:

David Dumouriez was born, has lived a bit, and will probably die.