LORDS and ladies, for your ear We have a petitioner; Name and lineage would ye know? 'T is Apollo's child, the Crow; Waiting till your hands dispense Gift of barley, salt, or pence. He's not one who picks and chooses; Naught that's proffered he refuses. Who, to-day, gives salt, he knows Next day fig or honey throws. Open, open, gate and door: Mark! the moment we implore, Comes the daughter of the squire With such figs as wake desire. Maiden, for this favor done, May thy fortunes, as they run, Ever brighten. Be thy spouse Rich, and of a noble house; May thy sire, in aged ease, Nurse a boy who calls thee mother; And his grandam, on her knees, Rock a girl, who calls him brother; Kept as bride, in reservation, For some favored near relation. But enough now; I must tread Where my feet and eyes are led; Dropping at each door a strain, Let me lose my suit or gain. Then search, worthy gentles, the cupboard's close nook; To the lord, and still more to the lady, we look: Custom warrants the suit; -- let it still then bear sway; And your Crow, as in duty most bounden, shall pray. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUMMER WIND by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT DOROTHY'S DOWER by PHOEBE CARY WE PARTED IN SILENCE by JULIA CRAWFORD THE COMING AMERICAN by SAM WALTER FOSS STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND by REGINALD HEBER THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLORENCE; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THERMOPYLAE by SIMONIDES OF CEOS |