THERE'S a fellow With twisting root-like hair up to his eyes, And they are streaked with red and starting out Under their bristling brows; his crooked tusks Part, like a hungry wolf's, his cursing mouth; His head is frontless, and a swinish mane Grows o'er his shoulders:—brown and warty hands, Like roots, with pointed nails.—He is the man. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON THE DEATH OF SIR ALBERT MORTON'S WIFE by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK by HERMAN MELVILLE THE AUTHOR'S EPITAPH, MADE BY HIMSELF by WALTER RALEIGH VERSES OCCASIONED BY THE SUDDEN DRYING UP..ST.PATRICK'S WELL by JONATHAN SWIFT THE MAID'S TRAGEDY by FRANCIS BEAUMONT PATER FILIO by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES ARISTOPHANES' APOLOGY; BEING THE LAST ADVENTURE OF BALAUSTION: PART 1 by ROBERT BROWNING |