The Progress Of The Spark

by Rudyard Kipling

　　

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This spark now set, retarded, yet forbears To hold her light however so he swears That turns a metalled crank, and leather cloked, With some small hammers tappeth hither an yon; Peering as when she showeth and when is gone; For wait he must till the vext Power's evoked That's one with the lightnings. Wait in the showers soaked; Or by the road-side sunned. She'll not progress. Poor soul, here taught how great things may by less Be stayed, to file contacts doth himself address!

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