It may be that he sits so still. (Men of ninety often will In a corner warm with sun, Knowing that their work is done.) Or because within his eyes There is something sweet and wise, As if God, Himself, had spread On the ground these bits of bread. However it may be, things come Creeping, flying for a crumb. Chipmonk, squirrel and catbird dare To gather largesse round his chair. Perhaps his tongue that halts on words Of mortals, now, can speak with birds, And kindly eyes so nearly blind To books, can read a red squirrel's mind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DORA VERSUS ROSE by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: 'EQUALITY OF SACRIFICE' by RUDYARD KIPLING A BED OF FORGET-ME-NOTS by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SHELLEY AND TRELAWNEY by JULIA COOLEY ALTROCCHI THE ACHARNIANS: A PLEA FOR THE ENEMY by ARISTOPHANES A NAMELESS EPITAPH (2) by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE LAURELS ARE FELLED by THEODORE FAULLAIN DE BANVILLE |