Straight remnant, of the spiry birchen bough, That o'er the streamlet wont perchance to quake Thy many twinkling leaves, and, bending low, Beheld thy white rind dancing on the lake -- How doth thy present state, poor stick! awake My pathos -- for, alas! even stript as thou May be my beating breast, if e'er forsake Philisto this poor heart; and break his vow. So musing on I fare, with many a sigh, And meditating then on times long past. To thee, lorn pole! I look with tearful eye, As all beside the floor-soiled pail thou'rt cast, And my sad thoughts, while I behold thee twirled, Turn on the twistings of this troublous world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I SAW A STABLE by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE UNCLE ANANIAS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 3 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI QUATRAIN: SPENDTHRIFT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH L'AMOUR DU MENSONGE by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE SWAN; TO VICTOR HUGO by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |