LUCKLESS man Avoids the miserable bodkin's point, And, flinching from the insect's little sting, In pitiful security keeps watch, While 'twixt him and that hypocrite the sun, To which he prays, comes windless pestilence, Transparent as a glass of poisoned water Through which the drinker sees his murderer smiling; She stirs no dust, and makes no grass to nod, Yet every footstep is a thousand graves, And every breath of her's as full of ghosts As a sunbeam with motes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FREQUENTLY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS LILIES: 18. A PICTURE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE MIRROR OF DIANA by MATHILDE BLIND TO MY SWEETHEART by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE WINDS OF LUXOR by ROBERT CLAY FOLLOWING A BEE by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES |