WHEN in the bag thy hops the rustic treads, Let him wear heelless sandals; nor presume Their fragrancy barefooted to defile: Such filthy ways for slaves in Malaga Leave we to practise—whence I've often seen, When beautiful Dorinda's iv'ry hand Has built the pastry fabric (food divine For Christmas gambols, and the hour of mirth), As the dried foreign fruit, with piercing eye, She culls suspicious—lo! she starts, she frowns With indignation at the Negro's nail. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ROBIN REDBREAST by GEORGE WASHINGTON DOANE THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE by EUGENE FIELD WINTER, FR. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE TREES IN WINTER by ARTHUR WILLIAM BEER THE ESCAPE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |