THE star, after beaming so brightly, From the sky fell, a vision unsightly, What is the love by poets sung? A star amid a heap of dung. Like a poor mangy dog, when he's dying, Beneath all this filth it is lying; Shrill crows the cock, loud grunts the sow And wallows in the fearful slough. In the garden O had I descended, By fair flowerets lovingly tended, Where I oft yearn'd to find my doom, A virgin death, a fragrant tomb! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW VERSES ON SEEING THE SPEAKER ASLEEP IN HIS CHAIR by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED MY SOLITUDE by JAMES R. AGGELES OUTSIDE THE TOYSHOP by JANE BARLOW CRISPUS ATTUCKS by OLIVA WARD BUSH BLANK MISGIVINGS OF A CREATURE MOVING ABOUT IN WORLDS NOT REALIZED: 7 by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH |