Withal a meagre man was Aaron Stark -- Cursed and unkempt, shrewd, shrivelled, and morose: A miser was he, with a miser's nose, And eyes like little dollars in the dark. His thin, pinched mouth was nothing but a mark; And when he spoke there came like sullen blows Through scattered fangs a few snarled words and close, As if a cur were chary of its bark. Glad for the murmur of his hard renown, Year after year he shambled through the town, -- A loveless exile moving with a staff; And oftentimes there crept into his ears A sound of alien pity, touched with tears, -- And then (and only then) did Aaron laugh. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WILD GAZELLE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON IVAN THE CZAR by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS BALLAD: TIME OF ROSES by THOMAS HOOD HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 40 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH JERUSALEM by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 3. THE FIRST SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |