AN army of Cyclops, fair reader, are we, Yet your servants especially ought we to be; The outposts of England, 'mid ocean's roar, We have stood since the deluge, and perhaps before. From Parry, and Cook, and Columbus too, A vote of thanks to ourselves is due; But to Solomon's ships, when to Ophir sent, Our aid, not asked, was of course not lent. To Matilda of Flanders' assistance we came, When she toiled to emblazon the Conqueror's fame; And the lasting memorials we are seen In a summer clime, of a swarthier queen. The records of ancient days we bear, And Time to erase us doth not dare, Yet the poorest girl in our native land Hath held us fast in her weary hand. We steadily turn from the tropical glow To the dreary regions of ice and snow. For we're firmly bound with a magic spell, Which none may loose, or its meaning tell. Woe to the man who hath dared to wed A woman who us and our use hath fled! If you find us out, you may claim to be As bright and as sharp as ever are we! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SLANTS AT BUFFALO, NEW YORK by CARL SANDBURG WHEN LOVE GOES by SARA TEASDALE THE KING OF SPAIN by MAXWELL BODENHEIM MY AIN COUNTREE by ALLAN CUNNINGHAM MILTON'S PRAYER [OF PATIENCE, OR, IN BLINDNESS] by ELIZABETH LLOYD HOWELL COWLEY: THE GARDEN by ALEXANDER POPE AN ELEGIE, OR FRIENDS PASSION, FOR HIS ASTROPHILL by MATTHEW ROYDEN |