WHEN foxes eat the last gold grape, And the last white antelope is killed, I shall stop fighting and escape Into a little house I'll build. But first I'll shrink to fairy size, With a whisper no one understands, Making blind moons of all your eyes, And muddy roads of all your hands. And you may grope for me in vain In hollows under the mangrove root, Or where, in apple-scented rain, The silver wasp-nests hang like fruit. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN WILL LOVE COME? by PAKENHAM THOMAS BEATTY TWENTY GOLDEN YEARS AGO by JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN FOR A DEAD LADY by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON FROLIC by GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL SONNET: TO J.M.K. by ALFRED TENNYSON |