MADAM,--Two Cockscombs wait at your command, And, what is strange, both dressed by Nature's hand; Like other fops they dread a hasty shower, And beg a refuge in your closest bower; Showy like them, like them they yield no fruit, But then, to make amends, they both are mute. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ONE SHORT HOUR by RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH YOUTH'S SONGS by MAXWELL ANDERSON SUMMER'S JOE by PATRICK JOHN MCALISTER ANDERSON THE HAYMAKER'S SONG by ALFRED AUSTIN THE FIRESIDE CHAIRS; HUSBAND TO WIFE by WILLIAM BARNES TAKE YOUR CHOICE: AS EDGAR LEE MASTERS WOULD HANDLE IT. HILDA HYDE by BERTON BRALEY |