Be she big or be she little, Tongues will wag (They're hung in the middle), And her reputation's brittle. Poor hung tongues! It seems they must Wag until Herself is dust. I know a tongue The wiser for Years and years Of battledore And shuttlecock, Up and down The peeking streets Of a certain town. And that tongue is Slow to speak -- It stays hidden In a wise old cheek. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LINE-STORM SONG by ROBERT FROST THE MARTYR; INDICATIVE OF PASSION OF PEOPLES APRIL 15, 1865 by HERMAN MELVILLE THE RUSTIC LAD'S LAMENT IN THE TOWN by DAVID MACBETH MOIR FROM THE ANTIQUE (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 1. LORD CRASHTON by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM READING LESSON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |