SAID a wistful daw in Saint Peter's tower, High above Casterbridge slates and tiles, Why do the walls of my Gothic bower Shiver, and shrill out sounds for miles? This gray old rubble Has scorned such din Since I knew trouble And joy herein. How still did abide them These bells now swung, While our nest beside them Securely clung!. . . It means some snare For our feet or wings; But I'll beware Of such baleful things!" And forth he flew from his louvred niche To take up life in a damp dark ditch. -- So mortal motives are misread, And false designs attributed, In upper spheres of straws and sticks, Or lower, of pens and politics. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CRUCIFIXION TO THE WORLD BY THE CROSS OF CHRIST by ISAAC WATTS CUSTER'S LAST CHARGE [JUNE 25, 1876] by FREDERICK WHITTAKER THISTLE-DOWN by CLARA DOTY BATES INHERITANCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN MARCELIA; A TRAGICOMEDY, SELECTION by FRANCES BOOTHBY MARIAN; AN OPERETTA: SONG (1) by FRANCES (MOORE) BROOKE WAR NOTES: 3. TWO PARADES by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |