Peace, peace! I know 'twas brave, But this coarse fleece I shelter in, is slave To no such piece. When I am gone, I shall no wardrobes leave To friend, or son But what their own homes weave, 2 Such, though not proud, nor full, May make them weep, And mourn to see the wool Outlast the sheep; Poor, pious wear! Hadst thou been rich, or fine Perhaps that tear Had mourned thy loss, not mine. 3 Why then these curled, puffed points, Or a laced story? Death sets all out of joint And scorns their glory; Some love a @3Rose@1 In hand, some in the skin; But cross to those, I would have mine @3within@1. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW TO BE A POET (TO REMIND MYSELF) by WENDELL BERRY OCTAVES: 8 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS; OR, NATURAL THEOLOGY IN THE ISLAND by ROBERT BROWNING THE PRINCESS: LULLABY by ALFRED TENNYSON FOR THE INAUGURATION OF A PUBLIC SCHOOL, CAMDEN, NEW JERSEY by WALT WHITMAN TIPPERARY: 3. AS THE INTERLINEARS MIGHT TAKE IT FROM XENOPHON by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |