They're not going travelling for many a day: They don't attempt branches, they seek it in clay: First they start holes, and then dig in hollows: Excavate caverns to lay future swallows: A gray, crumbling chapel, best for the landing: Too old for man -- not too old to be standing: A home no one visits, come west or come east, Unless he be harmless, some hermit or priest, Who walkes in a plot shaded green, an arena Between pater noster and ave maria. If he should lift eyes and see birds, the chance is: He'll be but a lover: another St Francis. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VISION OF JUDGEMENT by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE LITTLE BEACH BIRD by RICHARD HENRY DANA (1787-1879) THE GRASSHOPPER; TO MY NOBLE FRIEND MR. CHARLES COTTON by RICHARD LOVELACE SEVEN AGES OF MAN, FR. AS YOU LIKE IT by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE SIR LANCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE by ALFRED TENNYSON HIMALAYA by WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG THE STEAM-ENGINE: CANTO 7. LESSON FOR THE PROUD by T. BAKER A FUNERAL CHANT FOR THE OLD YEAR by E. JUSTINE BAYARD FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: A LOFTY MIND by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |