Fists in torn pockets I departed. My overcoat grew ideal too. I walked, your knight, O Muse, And dreamed, O my! what glorious loves. My only trousers had a hole. Little Tom Thumb, I dropped my dreaming rhymes. My lodging was the Great Bear Inn, And in the sky my stars were rustling. I listened, seated by the road- In soft September-where the dew Was wine of vigor on my face; And in weird shadows rhyming, plucked like lyres, The laces of my martyred shoes, One foot against my heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PLANTATION CHILD'S LULLABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE BOHEMIAN HYMN by RALPH WALDO EMERSON ON THE BUILDING OF SPRINGFIELD by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY SILENCE SINGS by THOMAS STURGE MOORE THE FEMALE GOD by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 54. LOVE'S FATALITY by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI DEATH THE LEVELLER, FR. THE CONTENTION OF AJAX AND ULYSSES by JAMES SHIRLEY |