Some said, because he wud'n spaik Any words to women but Yes and No, Nor put out his hand for Parson to shake He mun be bird-witted. But I do go By the lie of the barley that he did sow, And I wish no better thing than to hold a rake Like Dave, in his time, or to see him mow. Put up in churchyard a month ago, "A bitter old soul," they said, but it wadn't so. His heart were in Arracombe Wood where he'd used to go To sit and talk wi'his shadder till sun went low, Though what it was all about us'll never know. And there baint no mem'ry in the place Of th' old man's footmark, nor his face; Arracombe Wood do think more of a crow -- 'Will be violets there in the Spring: in Summer time the spider's lace; And come the Fall, the whizzle and race Of the dry, dead leaves when the wind gies chase; And on the Eve of Christmas, fallin' snow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PLAYERS ASK FOR A BLESSING ON THE PSALTERIES AND ON THEMSELVES by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS KING DAVID by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET I LOVE ALL BEAUTEOUS THINGS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES A COUNTRY BURIAL by EMILY DICKINSON THE POET AND HIS BOOK by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY DESERT WATERCOLOR by RUBY BOWEN THE SUPREME GIFT by DAISY DEAN BUTLER FOURTH BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 16 by THOMAS CAMPION HIS DAUGHTER, DYING ON HER FATHER'S BIRTHDAY by HENRY CAREY (1687-1743) |