One night when I went down Thames' side, in London Town, A heap of rags saw I, And sat me down close by. That thing could shout and bawl, But showed no face at all; When any steamer passed And blew a loud shrill blast, That heap of rags would sit And make a sound like it; When struck the clock's deep bell, It made those peals as well. When winds did moan around, It mocked them with that sound; When all was quiet, it Fell into a strange fit; Would sigh, and moan and roar, It laughed, and blessed, and swore. Yet that poor thing, I know, Had neither friend nor foe; Its blessing or its curse Made no one better or worse. I left it in that place -- The thing that showed no face, Was it a man that had Suffered till he went mad? So many showers and not One rainbow in the lot; Too many bitter fears To make a pearl from tears. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MEASURE OF THE YEAR by JAMES GALVIN SURFACES AND MASKS; 1 by CLARENCE MAJOR PRELUDES: 1-4 (COMPLETE) by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT FELICIA HEMANS by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON A REQUIEM FOR SOLDIERS LOST IN OCEAN TRANSPORTS by HERMAN MELVILLE BINGEN ON THE RHINE by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON THE ABBOT OF INISFALEN by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM ON THE DEATH OF A DAUGHTER by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM EPISTLE TO MR. M'ADAM; IN ANSWER TO AN OBLIGING LETTER ... by ROBERT BURNS |