They could not tell me who should be my lord, But I could read from every word they said The common thought: Perhaps that lord was dead, And only a story now and a wandering word. How could I follow a word or serve a fable, They asked me. 'Here are lords a-plenty. Take Service with one, if only for your sake; Yet better be your own master if you're able.' I would rather scour the roads, a masterless dog, Than take such service, be a public fool, Obstreperous or tongue-tied, a good rogue, Than be with those, the clever and the dull, Who say that lord is dead; when I can hear Daily his dying whisper in my ear | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ETERNITY BLUES by HAYDEN CARRUTH JOE HILL LISTENS TO THE PRAYING by KENNETH PATCHEN TO THE POOR by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD BOOKER T. WASHINGTON by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR RIDDLE: A CANDLE by MOTHER GOOSE HALSTED STREET CAR by CARL SANDBURG AN HYMN OF HEAVENLY LOVE by EDMUND SPENSER |