HARK, HARK, THE DOGS DO BARK by BERENICE C. DEWEY

Down the sunny road they lurch
(Pert they prance,
Smug they skip),
And all on Sunday morning.
Decent folk go all to church,
(Prim they pass,
Stiff they stalk),
In seemly black adorning.

Some in rags and some in tags
To they trip,
Fro they frisk,
With crazy laugh and talking.
Where the willow weeping, drags
Garments green,
Drap'ries dim,
They meet the parson walking.

Beggar in a velvet gown,
Lithe of limb,
High of heart,
Her bold brown eyes on fire,
Tops him lightly with a crown:
Poppies pied,
Jonquils jaune,
And decent black attire.

In the church the people wait;
(Cling a clang,
Ding a dong)
The bell strains at the rafter.
But the parson soon or late,
(Strange to say,
True to tell)
Will ne'er be seen hereafter.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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