THE dust blows up and down Within the lonely town; Vague, hurrying, dumb, aloof, On sill and bough and roof. What cloudy shapes do fleet Along the parched street; Clerks, bishops, kings go by -- To-morrow so shall I! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HERO-WORSHIP; SONNET by AMY LOWELL EPITHALAMION MADE AT LINCOLNES INNE by JOHN DONNE THE HARVEST MOON; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A SOUL'S SOLILOQUY by WENONAH STEVENS ABBOTT OUT OF THE SHADOW by MARGARET FAIRLESS BARBER THE NURSE'S STORY: THE HAND OF GLORY by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |