BEYOND the gates thou gav'st a field to till; I have a larger on my window-sill. A farm, d'ye say? Is this a farm to you, Where for all woods I spy one tuft of rue, And that so rusty, and so small a thing, One shrill cicada hides it with a wing; Where one cucumber covers all the plain; And where one serpent rings himself in vain To enter wholly; and a single snail Eats all and exit fasting to the pool? Here shall my gard'ner be the dusty mole. My only ploughman the . . . mole. Here shall I wait in vain till figs be set, And till the spring disclose the violet. Through all my wilds a tameless mouse careers, And in that narrow boundary appears, Huge as the stalking lion of Algiers, Huge as the fabled boar of Calydon. And all my hay is at one swoop impresst By one low-flying swallow for her nest, Strip god Priapus of each attribute Here finds he scarce a pedestal to foot. The gathered harvest scarcely brims a spoon; And all my vintage drips in a cocoon. Generous are you, but I more generous still: Take back your farm and hand me half a gill! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A HYMN; AFTER READING 'LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT' by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR ODES I, 9. TO WINTER by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS THE FOOL'S PRAYER by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL MOUNTAIN STORM by FRANCES DAVIS ADAMS ISLE OF BEAUTY by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY A NOCTURNE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT COUNTRY AFTERNOON by FLORENCE CROW TO AN UNKNOWN BUST IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON |