O cunning thief, to rifle My goods, worth such a trifle I have no grounds for claiming Your hand in lawful maiming: My pens, condemned to splutter, Vain lamentation utter, My script, untruly scraping, Weeps ever for the raping. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 27 by JAMES JOYCE MEDITATION ON A JUNE EVENING by CONRAD AIKEN MY DEATH AS A GIRL I KNEW by JAMES GALVIN THE AWAKENING by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO NANNETTE FALK-AUERBACH by SIDNEY LANIER THE STORY OF THE ASHES AND THE FLAME by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |