Son Cotton! these light idle brooks, Peeping into so many nooks, Yet have not for their idlest wave The leisure you may think they have: No, not the little ones that run And hide behind the first big stone, When they have squirted in the eye Of their next neighbour passing by; Nor yonder curly sideling fellow Of tones than Pan's own flute more mellow, Who learns his tune and tries it over As girl who fain would please her lover. Something has each of them to say ... He says it, and then runs away, And says it in another place ... Continuing the unthrifty chase. We have as many tales to tell, And look as gay and run as well, But leave another to pursue What we had promised we would do, Till, in the order God has fated, One after one precipitated, Whether we @3would@1 on, or would @3not@1 on, Just like these idle waves, son Cotton! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WILLIE WINKIE by WILLIAM MILLER THE HEAVENS ARE OUR RIDDLE by HERBERT BATES TO A DECEMBER GROUSE (HEARD FROM THE SMOKING ROOM) by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS TO A MACAW by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS REST by MARY M. SINGLETON CURRIE SYREN SONGS: DIRGE by GEORGE DARLEY |