Butchers are honest though their agile knives They wield with an engrossed dexterity. To smile with natural hatred like a dog, Dull, fretful, thirsty; -- this is to be he Who may unheated lave in burning blood Hands white and large with idleness and sleep. He is earth's hero -- this plain, bloated Casca. He glides like a great woman; while a hare Squats in his shaggy breast, and stares, and trembles If peeps the lightning in. So, let him pass; His bloody hands his chosen orators. There is much pig's flesh in a world of swine, White as the lily. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VOICE OF THE BANJO by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR DARKNESS IS THINNING by GREGORY I THE SONG OF FIONNUALA by THOMAS MOORE PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 38 by EDWARD TAYLOR A DREAM, OR THE TYPE OF THE RISING SUN by JEAN ADAMS |