Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AN OLD UMBRELLA, by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH Poet's Biography First Line: An old umbrella in the hall Last Line: While I this simple rhyme indite. Subject(s): Umbrellas | ||||||||
AN old umbrella in the hall, Battered and baggy, quaint and queer; By all the rains of many a year Bent, stained, and faded -- that is all. Warped, broken, twisted by the blast Of twenty winters, till at last, Like some poor close-reefed schooner cast, All water-logged, with half a mast, Upon the rocks -- it finds a nook Of shelter on an entry hook: -- Old battered craft -- how came you here? Ah, could it speak, 't would tell of one -- Old Simon Dowles, who now is gone -- Gone where the weary are at rest; Of one who locked within its breast His private sorrows o'er his lot, And in his humble work forgot That he was but a toiling bark Upon the billows in the dark, While the brave newer ships swept by Sailing beneath a prosperous sky, And winged with opportunities Fate had denied to hands like his. A plain, old-fashioned wight was he As these sport-loving days could see; He in his youth had loved and lost His loyal true-love. Ever since His lonely life was flecked and crossed By sorrow's nameless shadow-tints. Yet never a murmur from his lips Told of his darkened soul's eclipse. I often think I still can hear His voice so blithe, his tones of cheer, As, dropping in to say "good-day," He gossiped in his old man's way. And yet we laughed when he had gone. We youngsters could n't understand -- No matter if it rained or shone, He held the umbrella in his hand. Or if he set it in the hall, Where other shedders of the rain Stood dripping up against the wall, His was too shabby and too plain To tempt exchange. All passed it by, Though showers of rain were pouring down And all the gutters of the town Were torrents in the darkening sky. He never left it once behind Save the last time he crossed our door. Oblivious shadows o'er his mind Presaged his failing strength. Before The morning he had passed away In peaceful sleep from night to day. And here the old brown umbrella still In its old corner stays to fill The place, as best it may, of him Who on this wild and wintry night Is surely with the saints of light -- For whom my eyes grow moist and dim While I this simple rhyme indite. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BELLA HAD A NEW UMBRELLA by EVE MERRIAM BALLADE OF THE PINK PARASOL by WALLACE STEVENS THE ELF AND THE DORMOUSE by OLIVER BROOK HERFORD PARASOLS, FIFTY-NINE CENTS by MARY BRENNAN CLAPP CASUALTIES: 19. THE FLOOD by JOHN PEPPER CLARK MY NEW UMBRELLA by M. M. HUTCHINSON CORRESPONDENCES; HEXAMETERS AND PENTAMETERS by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH |
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