IN vain the future snaps his fangs, The tyke may rage - he canna wrang's, I put my haund upon my sangs Withoot a swither; To me this monument belangs, I need nae ither. It's no' in granite to endoor, Sandstane comes ripplin' doon like stoor, Marble - it canna stand the shoo'r, It lasts nae time; There's naething yet has hauf the poo'r O' silly rhyme. The pyramids hae tint their tale, It's lang sin' they begoud to fail, They're either murlin' doun to meal Or fog-enwrappit, While Homer at this hoor's as hale As e'er he stappit. Sae I may say't withoot a lee, I dinna a'thegither dee; Therefore forbear to greet for me When I'm awa, An' keep a dry, a drouthie ee, I chairge ye a'. When at my door the hearse draws up An' Kate haunds roun' the dirgy-cup, Nae friend o' mine will tak' a sup For that the less, But calmly wi' a steady grup Cowp owre his gless. The better pairt o' me remains! Whaur Allan Watter weets the plains, An' Devon, crystal but for rains, Gangs wanderin' wide, Lang after me ye'll hear my strains On Ochilside. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHILD AND HER STATUE by LOUIS UNTERMEYER A BROOK IN THE CITY by ROBERT FROST A SONG TO MITHRAS by RUDYARD KIPLING THE WARNING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THIRTEEN WAYS OF LOOKING AT A BLACKBIRD by WALLACE STEVENS CASTLES by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |