THEY go by three And the moon shivers; The tired waves flee, The hidden rivers Also flee. I take three strands; There is one for her, One for my hands, And one to stir For another's hands. I twine them thinner, The dead wool doubts; The outer is inner The core slips out. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN EXPOSTULATION by ISAAC BICKERSTAFFE A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE REVENGE OF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A MOTHER'S ANSWER (2) by LILLIE E. BARR |