I weep as I recall the day my Dun Lent me those fatal Three Half-Crowns: he stood A full half-hour in shilly-shallying mood Poising them in his hand, and - one by one - Counting them o'er, as first he had begun. Even then I saw no human likelihood Of my repaying them - and I still see none. Small wonder, therefore, if I sometimes brood With bitter tears over my dismal fate, Besonnetizing and bewailing it, Loathing my food, which at such seasons I Exert myself in vain to masticate, And suffering in such style as makes me fit For nothing but to - go to bed, and - die! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUNTIE'S SKIRTS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON PATERNITY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE BOAST OF THE TIDES by WILLIAM ROSE BENET MILLCREEK by MATTIE-LOU BLACKWOOD WELCOME TO EGYPT by MATHILDE BLIND THE NEST by JULIEN AUGUSTE PELAGE BRIZEUX THE OLD THIRTEEN by CHARLES TIMOTHY BROOKS A THOUGHT FOR A LONELY DEATH-BED by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |