THE yardman, he with the coins on his watch-chain, stood Joking the housewife where she tied to the rafter A monstrous puffball found in the dust of the wood. "You'll come when you cut yourself next." He replied in laughter, "Them old remedies won't do a morsel of good." This I heard; This like many a chance-arriving word About my brain with the iron refrain of a mill-wheel's round recurred. Yet, being in the day's machine fresh-hacked, This night I pray the dewy stars to act, The stars, and moon, once of sweet influence known, Has even the moon a dusty puffball grown? Are those old remedies of sovran grace Unable now to touch the case? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TONE PICTURE (MALIPIERO: IMPRESSONI DAL VERO) by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER THE RUINED MAID by THOMAS HARDY THE PUMPKIN by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 39. WON BY SUBTILTY by PHILIP AYRES THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 38. TO ONE NOW ESTRANGED by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT BELINDA'S RECOVERY FROM SICKNESS by WILLIAM BROOME |