Here is a sea-legged sailor, Come to this tottering inn, Just when the bronze on its signboard is fading, And the black shades of evening begin. With his head on his paws sleeps a sheepdog, There stoops the shepherd, and see, All follow-my-leader the ducks waddle homeward, Under the sycamore tree. Burned brown is the face of the sailor; His bundle is crimson; and green Are the thick leafy boughs that hang dense o'er the tavern; And blue the far meadows between. But the crust, ale and cheese of the sailor, His mug and his platter of Delf, And the crescent to light home the shepherd and sheepdog The painter has kept to himself. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE QUIET PILGRIM by EDITH MATILDA THOMAS BARCAROLE: DE VIGNY by E. G. B. THE THREE MUSICIANS by AUBREY BEARDSLEY FIRST NIGHT-FLIGHT by MARGARET BODEN THE WIND AND STREAM by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT MORNING SOUNDS by RUTH LEONARD BUCHE LAST REVELATION by WINIFRED ADAMS BURR ON A PORTRAIT OF MARY TUDOR IN PRADO by ELIZABETH JANE COATSWORTH |