He's not the bird I took him for. I heard him in the distance screaming, And tho' his voice was harsh, that hour I dream'd of glories, golden, gleaming! This hour he meets my closer view, And tho' he cuts as big a swagger, I find a little cockatoo, And not a peacock, in the bragger! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG FOR THE FIRST OF THE MONTH by DOROTHY PARKER PSALM 136 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE TO MY MYRTLE [MIRTLE] by WILLIAM BLAKE REALISM by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH AUSTERITY OF POETRY by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE IMPROVISATORE: THE INDUCTION TO THE FIRST FYTTE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |