HO! ho! Ye Scholar recketh not how lean His lank frame waxeth in ye hectic gloom That smeareth o'er ye dim walls of his room His wavering shadow! Shut is he, I ween, Like as a withered nosegay, in between Ye musty, mildewed leaves of some volume Of ancient lore ye moth and he consume In jointure. Yet a something in his mien Forbids all mockery, though quaint is he, And eke fantastical in form and face As that Old Knight ye Tale of Chivalry Made mad immortally, yet spared y grace Of some rare virtue which we sigh to see, And pour our laughter out most tenderly. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HE GOADS HIMSELF by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE VOYAGE TO VINLAND: 3. GUDRIDA'S PROPHECY by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AN ELEGY: TO AN OLD BEAUTY by THOMAS PARNELL THE CITY CHILD by ALFRED TENNYSON WINDOW TRIMMER by MARGARET LEE ASHLEY SHRODON FEAR: THE VU'ST PEART by WILLIAM BARNES |