Up in my tower I sat alone, Telling myself in a mournful tone How sinfully blind were ancient men Who stoned the prophets preaching then, When down in the street I heard a cry And the feet of many rushing by. "There in the market place he stands, A tall, thin prophet with long thin hands! Come and get a paving stone, come and get a brick, Come and get a house-tile and stone him, quick!" How could I think of ancient things? I went down the stairs as if on wings, I ran with the crowd to the market place And flung an ink bottle full in his face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LE MEDECIN MALGRE LUI by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 7. OF PLEASURE AND PAIN by THOMAS CAMPION FORGIVENESS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES AMORETTI: 68 by EDMUND SPENSER THE COW by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON TO LORD BYRON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |