Too anxious was I! Hear me, friends, nor blame; You'll pity her -- her in the slumberland -- O pity me? . . . no, no! -- but understand The lonely man who gave the girl his name! Like to "a candle with unsteady flame Through fierce combustion of uncouth element" I said she burned, not only her merriment Being thus random in device and aim: For, though a gentlewoman, read in books, Deep wisdom often in her simple talk (Deeper than ocean's, fresher than the brook's), Though deft of finger with needle, flower, or chalk, Though striving ever with prayer and plan to be In feeling poised, in conduct firm and free | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CAGED SKYLARK by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS IN THE NEOLITHIC AGE by RUDYARD KIPLING SONNET: 151 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ON THE DEATH OF MRS. MARTINEAU by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD WOONE SMILE MWORE by WILLIAM BARNES THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: A L'ENTRESOL by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON A MOCKING-BIRD by WITTER BYNNER LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN THE CHURCHYARD OF HARROW by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |