He had not always meant to be Just a Beachcomber by the sea; Threadbare trousers rolled to his knees Exposing legs all coppery; Judged mad by those who carry keys For unlocking their properties. 'Twas a shovel, a sieve, and loot That held him bound by hand and foot To this sad life so dissolute. Thus he was destined just to be An old Beachcomber by the sea A-digging sand and living free. When destiny changed his career, It drove ambition from his heart; It dulled his soul, bade hope depart; It gave the world to him to roam, Always seeking a transient home And the shore-line loot far and near. Takes six shovels to fill his sieve, He lifts them from the cool damp sands And, as the grains fall through in mounds, Picks out the loot with his bare hands, And throws the dregs to leveled grounds, Seeks again what the sands will give. Oh Destiny! What means this dole? Why steal ambition from his soul, Hand to him a Beachcomber's role, Letting a shovel, loot, and sieve Befog the life that he should live, When better talents you could give? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CUPID AND CAMPASPE, FR. ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE by JOHN LYLY LOVE'S JUSTIFICATION by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI THE FIGHT AT SAN JACINTO [APRIL 21, 1836] by JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER ANGEL OR WOMAN by THOMAS PARNELL THE BROOK: SPRING by LAURA ABELL ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 14. THE COMPLAINT by MARK AKENSIDE |