Who calls? I cannot say, Nor do I care -- nor care! @3Old Mother Hubbard went to her cupboard And found that the cupboard was bare.@1 The mouldering folk may call? Ah, then, an end to songs! Come to our wounds with cool powder and poultice, And a gold pen to right our wrongs. Who calls? And one is two? The cat is dead -- was killed! Yellow canary will sing on the coffin And live in the house -- one will build! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 22 by OMAR KHAYYAM MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 8 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP by ROBERT SOUTHWELL THE LONG HILL by SARA TEASDALE EN PASSANT by EDITH COURTENAY BABBITT TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH; ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS POEM, 'PETER BELL' by BERNARD BARTON IN MEMORIAM W.M. & E.B.J. by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 34. REMINDING HER OF A PROMISE (4) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |