And this reft house is that, the which he built, Lamented Jack! and here his malt he pil'd, Cautious in vain! these rats, that squeak so wild, Squeak not unconscious of their father's guilt. Did he not see her gleaming thro' the glade! Belike 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn. What tho' she milk no cow with crumpled horn, Yet, @3aye@1 she haunts the dale where @3erst@1 she stray'd: And @3aye,@1 beside her stalks her amorous knight! Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn, And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn, His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white. Ah! thus thro' broken clouds at night's high Noon Peeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE YOUNG LAUNDRYMAN by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE MASTER'S TOUCH by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR DINING-ROOM TEA by RUPERT BROOKE FUCHSIA HEDGES IN CONNACHT by PADRAIC COLUM ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON [APRIL 6, 1862] by KATE BROWNLEE SHERWOOD |