FRIENDS had he many, neighbours next to none. Rowfant and Crabbet lay few fields apart. Each Sunday saw him here, his church drill done, Duly stroll in to talk of books and art, Entrapped, may-be, to share my modest tart, Roast fowl and claret, and an evening won In stealth from Sabbath bonds strange to his heart. Childlike he prized these truant bursts of fun. —Long years ago! It needs his wit to jog Old time to life. Yet I remember well Companioning him home to the hill's top Keen on his books, and how he paused to tell Eager the first news of this Catalogue. Reading it, see, the tears come and I stop. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEDICATION OF THE FIRST SONNETS TO A FRIEND ... by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE FIRESIDE by NATHANIEL COTTON JOAN OF ARC IN RHEIMS by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS ON THE HOME GUARDS; WHO PERISHED ... LEXINGTON, MISSOURI by HERMAN MELVILLE THE SONG OF FIONNUALA by THOMAS MOORE SONNET: 128 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE FOREIGN LANDS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |