Out of the twilight, mystical, dim, Startles a bird-call ghostly and grim. Over the meadows the fluting cry, Stern and pathetic and weirdly nigh: "Whip poor Will!" Where does he live, this mysterious Will? Farmland or forest, or vale or hill? Why is he poor, and if poor, why thus Are you persistently bidding us "Whip poor Will"? Is he a stupid, beyond belief? Other folks pilfer and call him a thief? Others are tricky and dub him a cheat? Is that the reason you sadly repeat "Whip poor Will"? Is Will a rascal, deserving of blows, Still winning friendship wherever he goes, Gently arrested and smilingly chid, -- Is that the reason so quaintly you bid "Whip poor Will"? Do we not know him, this pitiful Will? Centuries pass, -- he is with us still! Do we not smile as he stands at bay? Do we not sob as we legally say "Whip poor Will"? Easy to urge the judicial command, Thrusting the thong in another's hand. Ah, you iterant feathered elf, If you'd have whipping, then do it yourself: Whip poor Will! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TRANQUIL HABIT by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: DEDICATION TO R. WENMAN by WILLIAM BASSE SONNET: POOR LISA by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON PSALM 135 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE DISGUISES by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE MOTHER'S HYMN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |