Please you, excuse me, good five-o'clock people, I've lost my last hatful of words, And my heart's in the wood up above the church steeple, I'd rather have tea with - the birds. Gay Kate's stolen kisses, poor Barnaby's scars, John's losses and Mary's gains, Oh! what do they matter, my dears, to the stars Or the glow-worms in the lanes! I'd rather lie under the tall elm-trees, With old rooks talking loud overhead, To watch a red squirrel run over my knees, Very still on my brackeny bed. And wonder what feathers the wrens will be taking For lining their nests next Spring; Or why the tossed shadow of boughs in a great wind shaking Is such a lovely thing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 42. 'GRECIAN AND ENGLISH' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) PSALM 133 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE PSALM 2; DONE AUGUST 8, 1653 - TERZETTI by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE LITTLE FRIEND; WRITTEN IN THE BOOK WHICH SHE MADE & SENT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING IF LINCOLN SHOULD RETURN by MARGARET E. BRUNER LINES WRITTEN ON WINDOWS OF THE GLOBE INN, DUMFRIES by ROBERT BURNS |