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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARSHALL WASHER by HAYDEN CARRUTH LA NOCHE TRISTE by ROBERT FROST TO CARMEN SYLVA (QUEEN OF ROUMANIA) by EMMA LAZARUS DOMEDAY BOOK: JOHN CAMPBELL AND CARL EATON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. PURKAPILE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |