Here lieth a poor Natural: The Lord who understandeth all Hath opened now his witless eyes On the Green Fields of Paradise. Sunshine or rain, he grinning sat: But none could say at who or what. And all misshapen as he were, What wonder folk would stand and stare? He'd whistle shrill to the passing birds, Having small stock of human words; And all his company belike Was one small hungry mongrel Tyke. Not his the wits ev'n joyed to be When Death approached to set him free -- Bearing th' equality of all, Wherein to attire a Natural. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SWEET MEETING OF DESIRES by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE THE FLAT-HUNTER'S WAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS A QUESTION by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS AN EVOCATION by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER LITANY TO SATAN by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE PSALM 133 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 60. THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |