I made myself the friend of all Who mixed in his society, That on their succour I might call Should he prove obdurate to me. Although the bough be high indeed And hold himself extremely grand, A puff of wind with utmost speed Will send him sweeping to the hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LET ME NOT HATE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE RAINY SEASON by CLARENCE MAJOR KILLED IN ACTION by ISAAC ROSENBERG TWO PROMENADES SENTIMENTALES: 1. RAIN by EDITH SITWELL I AM BORNE ONWARD by SARA TEASDALE |