THE rose did caper on her cheek, Her bodice rose and fell, Her pretty speech, like drunken men, Did stagger pitiful. Her fingers fumbled at her work, -- Her needle would not go; What ailed so smart a little maid It puzzled me to know, Till opposite I spied a cheek That bore another rose; Just opposite, another speech That like the drunkard goes; A vest that, like the bodice, danced To the immortal tune, -- Till those two troubled little clocks Ticked softly into one. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD by ROBERT BROWNING THE VOICELESS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE LAY OF MR. COLT by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN SONNET: 12 by RICHARD BARNFIELD ECCLESIASTES by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE A POEM, DEDICATED TO WILLIAM LAW, PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY by ROBERT BLAIR |