November 29, 1929 & “Cold Grey Stone. . . Chillon”


Gloomy pile of cold grey stone

Standing silent grim and lone!

Your foundation is hewn from a giant block

From the very heart of the solid rock.

From the waves of Geneva your turrets rise,

They catch the light from the blue Swiss skies,

Over their roofs the sun may beat

But never a ray of his welcome heat

Can pierce the gloom of your stony walls,

Or blot out the record your past recalls.


I noted the print in your cold stone floor

Where Bonnivard paced two years or more,

Your gloomy arches reaching up

In the darkness, like an inverted cup,

Your torture chamber and cruel block

Where heads were severed on the serried rock . .

It froze the blood in the heart of me,

And I wondered how such things could be.


Grim grey relic of ages past

In Geneva’s waters bedded fast!

A part of you I call my own. . .

A small, small fragment

Of cold grey stone.

This entry was posted in Green Mountain Echoes, Poems and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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