I'll touch you not, you much abus-ed rag, Poor slave of all those epidermic rites Performed by thousands who have come to drag Their cindery surface to this bowl's delights. This tattered hem I vow shall thus remain, These holes shall grow not till another time. You've had enough; that faint but lingering stain Shall take no fresh addition from my grime Respected, honored, I will leave you here For others' service -- or to join the dead. Nay, more! That pair of holes have roused my fear! I'd better stow you here beneath the bed Lest, rising in the dark, I do you hurt Trying to don you for an undershirt. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POLLY by WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS ISAIAH: FIFTY-SECOND CHAPTER by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE A DREAM by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES TO A LADY, WITH A PAIR OF DRINKING GLASSES by ROBERT BURNS TEN YEARS HAVE PASSED; ON VIEWING WAR GRAVES AT VERDUN, 1928 by DON MAITLAND BUSHBY THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN: 7. THE LEGEND OF PHILOMELA by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |