There is a tree, by day, Has a shadow, A hand huge and black, With fingers long and black. All through the dark, Against the white man's house, In the little wind, The black hand plucks and plucks At the bricks. The bricks are the color of blood and very small. Is it a black hand? Or is it a shadow? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A POEM FOR MAX NORDAU by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON SAGE COUNSEL by ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH ALFRED THE HARPER by JOHN STERLING (1806-1844) NORTH-WEST PASSAGE: 3. IN PORT by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 30 by ALFRED TENNYSON CELEBRATION ODE by LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN REMINISCENCE by DOROTHY ALLISON FROM AN EXCAVATION ON THE WARRIOR RIVER by ESTHER BARRETT ARGO |