THREE little ducks by a door, Snuggling aside in the sun; The sweep of a threshing-floor, A flail with its One-two, One; A shaggy-haired, loose-limbed mare, Grave as a master at class; A foal with its heels in the air, Rolling, for joy, in the grass; A sunny-eyed, golden-haired lad, Laughing, astride on a wall; A collie-dog, lazily glad... Why do I think of it all? Why? From my window I see Once more, through the dust-dry pane, The sky like a great Dead Sea, And the lash of the London rain; And I read -- here in London town, Of a murder done at my gate, And a goodly ship gone down, And of homes made desolate; And I know, with the old sick heart, That but for a moment's space We may shut our sense, and part From the pain of this tarrying-place. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 18 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN I HEAR AMERICA SINGING by WALT WHITMAN MARY MAGDALEN by BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA ECLOGUE ON ELIZABETH BELSHAM by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD D.O. BARNETT by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH! by ROBERT BURNS COUNTRY FELLOWS AND THE ASS; ABSURDITY OF ATTEMPTING TO PLEASE ALL MEN by JOHN BYROM MEDITATIONS FOR EVERY DAY IN PASSION WEEK: WEDNESDAY by JOHN BYROM |