@3Lullaby@1 In the house of my fathers Are polished floors and discreet candles. ... Whisper more softly, And do not smile, Lest you be suffocated Beneath velvet grey Ashes drifting down! @3He Says@1 My father is a fool. I wish I could chop him down Like the gnarled beech That blossomed so beautifully In our hearth-fire last winter; But I merely stand by and say, "Yes, sir! No, sir! Thanks!" @3My Soul@1 My soul is a boomerang. Many times have I sold it, And cast it from me. But ever and ever it returneth. Damn it! @3Me and Myself@1 Self is the root of sickness, sin, and sorrow. Self is illusion. ... So I earnestly endeavor to convince myself; But my self won't stop to listen; It puts its fingers to its nose at me, And goes on its way, whistling. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CONFESSIONAL by ROBERT BROWNING THE LAY OF THE LABOURER by THOMAS HOOD ENDYMION by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW FLOWERS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ZION, OR THE CITY OF GOD by JOHN NEWTON ON SOME BUTTERCUPS by FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN |