SH-SH-SH-SH-SHE does not hear the r-r-r-r-robin sing, Nor f-f-f-f-feel the b-b-b-b-balmy b-b-breath of Spring; Sh-sh-sh-she does not hear the p-p-pelting rain B-b-b-beat ta-ta-tat-t-t-toos on the w-w-winder p-p-pane. Sh-sh-sh-she cuc-cuc-cannot see the Autumn s-s-sky, Nor hear the wild geese s-s-s-stringing b-b-by; And, oh! how happy t-t-t- 'tis to know Sh-sh-she never f-f-feels an earthly woe! I s-s-spoke to her; sh-sh-she would not speak. I kuk-kuk-kuk-kissed her, but c-c-cold was her cheek. I could not twine her w-w-w-wondrous hair -- It w-w-was so wonderf-f-f-fully rare. B-b-beside her s-s-stands a v-v-v-vase of flowers, A gilded cuc-cuc-cuc-clock that t-t-tells the hours; And even now the f-f-fire-light f-f-f-falls On her, and d-d-dances on the walls. Sh-sh-she's living in a p-p-pup-purer life, Where there's no tu-tuh-turmoil and no strife; No t-t-t-tongue can m-m-m-mock, no words embarrass Her b-b-b-b-by g-g-gosh! she's p-p-plaster paris! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE AUTHOR TO HER BOOK by ANNE BRADSTREET THE SPELLIN' BEE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR ON CATULLUS by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR HYMNS OF THE MARSHES: THE MARSHES OF GLYNN by SIDNEY LANIER EPITAPH ON HIMSELF by MATTHEW PRIOR |