HIS kind velvet bonnet Warmly lies upon My weary lap, and on it My tears run. The black and furry fire Sinks low, and like the dire Sound of charring coal, the black Cat's whirring back. On the bare bough A few blue threadbare leaves, A few blue plaided leaves grow Like mornings and like eves. Scotch bonnet, bonny, Lying on my gown, The fire was once, hey nonny, A battlemented town; And every morn I build Those steep castles there, And every night they're ruined Like the boughs bare. And nothing doth remain, Kind bonny, but my pain, And night and morn, like boughs they're bare, With nobody to care. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE BRINK by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY MIMNERMUS IN CHURCH by WILLIAM JOHNSON CORY TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW by ROBERT HERRICK SONGS OF TRAVEL: 26. IF THIS WERE FAITH by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 32 by EDWARD TAYLOR THE STORM by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE THE BROWN GIANT by ALEXANDER ANDERSON |