HERE lies one, who never drew Blood himself, yet many slew; Gave the gun its aim, and figure Made in field, yet ne'er pulled trigger. Armed men have gladly made Him their guide, and him obeyed; At his signified desire, Would advance, present, and fire-- Stout he was, and large of limb, Scores have fled at sight of him; And to all this fame he rose Only following his nose. Neptune was he called, not he Who controls tho boisterous sea, But of happier command, Neptune of the furrowed land; And, your wonder vain to shorten, Pointer to Sir John Throckmorton. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THERE WILL BE STARS by SARA TEASDALE THE WILLING MISTRESS by APHRA BEHN CAVALIER TUNES: GIVE A ROUSE THEN FOR THE CLINIC by ROBERT BROWNING THE LOST JEWEL by EMILY DICKINSON PARTING by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE CRADLE SONG (TO A TUNE OF BLAKE'S): 2 by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER (DEDICATED TO MISS ELLA F. KENNEDY) by SARA S. BASHEFKIN |