THERE'S a fellow With twisting root-like hair up to his eyes, And they are streaked with red and starting out Under their bristling brows; his crooked tusks Part, like a hungry wolf's, his cursing mouth; His head is frontless, and a swinish mane Grows o'er his shoulders:—brown and warty hands, Like roots, with pointed nails.—He is the man. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY THE BABYLONIAN HORDES by ISAAC ROSENBERG COCK-CROW by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS THE BOSPHORUS REVISITED by SEYMOUR GREEN WHEELER BENJAMIN WARNING by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB TREASURED MOMENTS by OLIVA WARD BUSH THE DEVOTED by ELIZABETH MARGARET CHANDLER |