HOW slowly moves the snail, that builds A silver street so fine and long: I move as slowly, but I leave Behind me not one breath of song. Dumb as a moulting bird am I, I go to bed when children do, My ale but two half-pints a day, And to @3one@1 woman I am true. Oh! what a life, how flat and stale -- How dull, monotonous and slow! Can I sing songs in times so dead -- Are there no more wild oats to sow? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK MONKEY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD W'EN I GITS HOME by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR BY BLUE ONTARIO'S SHORE by WALT WHITMAN EARTH TRIUMPHANT by CONRAD AIKEN EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 1. THE MARVELLOUS SEED OF LOVE by PHILIP AYRES THE FROZEN GRAIL (TO PEARY AND HIS MEN) by ELSA BARKER |