There goes mad Poll, dressed in wild flowers, Poor, crazy Poll, now old and wan; Her hair all down, like any child: She swings her two arms like a man. Poor, crazy Poll is never sad, She never misses one that dies; When neighbours show their new-born babes, They seem familiar to her eyes. Her bonnet's always in her hand, Or on the ground, and lying near; She thinks it is a thing for play, Or pretty show, and not to wear. She gives the sick no sympathy, She never soothes a child that cries; She never whimpers, night or day, She makes no moans, she makes no sighs. She talks about some battle old, Fought many a day from yesterday; And when that war is done, her love -- 'Ha, ha!' Poll laughs, and skips away. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PRELUDE; FOR GEOFFREY GORER by EDITH SITWELL PORTRAIT OF A MACHINE by LOUIS UNTERMEYER WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? by PAUL VERLAINE THE WIND AT THE DOOR by WILLIAM BARNES THE CALL TO THE COLORS by ARTHUR GUITERMAN KILLED AT THE FORD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TWO AT A FIRESIDE by EDWIN MARKHAM HYMN: 32. THE NATIVITY OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST by CHRISTOPHER SMART |