FEE, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman: Be he alive or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MERCILES BEAUTE; A TRIPLE ROUNDEL: 3. ESCAPE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER THE CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON by GEOFFREY CHAUCER GRANDMOTHER'S STORY OF BUNKER HILL BATTLE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE TWELVE-FORTY-FIVE (FOR EDWARD J. WHEELER) by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER IMAGINATION, FR. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE MUTABILITY (2) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY SONGS by RICHARD HENRY STODDARD ON HEARING THAT THE STUDENTS OF OUR NEW UNIVERSITY JOINED AGITATION .. by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |