HOW slowly moves the snail, that builds A silver street so fine and long: I move as slowly, but I leave Behind me not one breath of song. Dumb as a moulting bird am I, I go to bed when children do, My ale but two half-pints a day, And to @3one@1 woman I am true. Oh! what a life, how flat and stale -- How dull, monotonous and slow! Can I sing songs in times so dead -- Are there no more wild oats to sow? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LIFE SO SHORT by EAMON GRENNAN SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: OAKS TUTT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO MY NINETH DECADE by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE SON; SOUTHERN OHIO MARKET TOWN by FREDERICK RIDGELY TORRENCE TO A COUNTRY HOTEL TOWEL by ELMER CLEVELAND ADAMS |