WHEN my grandmother once had bewitch'd a poor girl, The mob would have burnt her quite readily; But though fiercely the judge his mustachios might twirl. She refused to confess her crime steadily. And when in the caldron they held her fast, She shouted and yell'd like a craven; But when the black vapour arose, she at last Flew up in the air as a raven. My black and feathery grandmother dear, O visit me soon in this tower! Quick, fly through the grating, and come to me here, And bring me some cakes to devour! My black and feathery grandmother dear, O prythee protect me from sorrow! For my aunt will be picking my eyes out, I fear, When I merrily soar hence to-morrow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WEDDING BED IN MANGKUTANA by KAREN SWENSON THE CRAFTSMAN by MARCUS B. CHRISTIAN FRAGMENT 113 by HILDA DOOLITTLE THE PROGRESS OF POESY; A PINDARIC ODE by THOMAS GRAY ON THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS WYATT by HENRY HOWARD A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS: 1. HIS EXCUSE FOR LOVING by BEN JONSON GLOIRE DE DIJON by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE |