A MOUNTAIN oak core-riven by a gale, Shaking its roots and limbs, and stones upstarting; Such was blind Polyphemus raging on the crags, Hurling boulders after the ships departing. Upon the green tuft of a pine nearby A curious, watchful little thrush was sitting; "Though I am no giant, though my eyes are small, I see, Polyphemus, where your rocks miss hitting." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALIENS (TO YOU - EVERYWHERE! DEDICATED) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ESTRANGEMENT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON HEGIRA by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MATE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE AUDACIOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |