LITTLE feet too young and soft to walk, Little lips too young and pure to talk, Little faded grass-tufts, root and stalk. I lie alone here, utterly alone, Amid pure ashes my wild ashes mingle; A drowned man, with a name, unknown, A drifting waif, flung by the drifting shingle. Oh, plotting brain, and restless heart of mine, What strange fate brought you to so strange a shrine? Sometimes a woman comes across the grass, Bare-footed, with pit-patterings scarcely heard, Sometimes the grazing cattle slowly pass, Or on my turf sings loud some mating bird. Oh, plotting brain, and restless heart of mine, What strange fate brought you to so strange a shrine? Little feet too young and soft to walk, Little lips too young and pure to talk, Little faded grass-tufts, root and stalk. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS by FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON THE BABIE by JEREMIAH EAMES RANKIN KNOWLEDGE by HENRY DAVID THOREAU EXTEMPORE EFFUSION UPON THE DEATH OF JAMES HOGG by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE METEMPSYCHOSIS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 6. ALLAH-AS-SALAM by EDWIN ARNOLD |