PASSING my brow, and passing my eyes, And passing lower with devious range, Passing my chest, And passing the rest, I feel a something passing strange! Over my soul there seems to pass A middle state of life or death, And I almost seem to feel, alas! That I am drawing my passing breath! And, methinks I hear the passing-bell; But, Mr. Passmore, that reverend elf, Gives me a pass that I know well, A sort of passport to Heaven itself! Passing my brow, and passing my eye, And passing lower, with devious range, Passing my chest, And passing the rest, I feel a something passing strange! Oh, Mr. Eyre, Lieutenant dear! Oh! Lady Sale, thou gallant lass! I know for certain that ye are near, For I feel, I feel, the Khyber Pass! But no -- 'tis Brockedon passes my brow, And I'm in the Alpine Passes now, With icy valleys, and snowy crests, Whereon the passing vapour rests; And guide and English traveller pass, Each on a very passable ass! Passing my ear and passing my eye! O joy! what pastoral meads I spy, Full of lambs that frisk and feed While the Pastor plays on his rustic reed -- To the very best of his humble ability, Piping ever shrill and loud, But oh! what new magnetic cloud Passes over my passability! Over my soul there seems to pass A middle state of life or death, And I almost seem to feel, alas! That I am drawing my passing breath. No more prospects bright and sunny, No more chance of pleasant cheer, No more hope of passing money -- I feel the pass of the Overseer! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THURSDAY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS BETRAYAL by HESTER H. CHOLMONDELEY WALDEINSAMKEIT by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THESEUS, SELECTION by BACCHYLIDES NEW THINGS ARE BEST by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE DOWNS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES EXTEMPORE LINES IN ANSWER TO A CARD by ROBERT BURNS |