Be she big or be she little, Tongues will wag (They're hung in the middle), And her reputation's brittle. Poor hung tongues! It seems they must Wag until Herself is dust. I know a tongue The wiser for Years and years Of battledore And shuttlecock, Up and down The peeking streets Of a certain town. And that tongue is Slow to speak -- It stays hidden In a wise old cheek. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE YELLOW VIOLET by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A MAN BY THE NAME OF BOLUS by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY PUCK AND THE FAIRY, FR. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE LAY OF THE LEVITE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: A LOFTY MIND by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES CONCERNING I AND NON-I by JOHN STUART BLACKIE THE FABRIC by GAMALIEL BRADFORD |