Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ELEGIAC SONNET TO A MOPSTICK, by WILLIAM BECKFORD



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ELEGIAC SONNET TO A MOPSTICK, by            
First Line: Straight remnant, of the spiry birchen bough
Last Line: Turn on the twistings of this troublous world.


Straight remnant, of the spiry birchen bough,
That o'er the streamlet wont perchance to quake
Thy many twinkling leaves, and, bending low,
Beheld thy white rind dancing on the lake --
How doth thy present state, poor stick! awake
My pathos -- for, alas! even stript as thou
May be my beating breast, if e'er forsake
Philisto this poor heart; and break his vow.

So musing on I fare, with many a sigh,
And meditating then on times long past.
To thee, lorn pole! I look with tearful eye,
As all beside the floor-soiled pail thou'rt cast,
And my sad thoughts, while I behold thee twirled,
Turn on the twistings of this troublous world.





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