'I have no master,' said the Blind Boy, 'My mother, "Dame Venus" they do call; Cowled in this hood she sent me begging For whate'er in pity may befall. 'Hard was her visage, me adjuring, -- "Have no fond mercy on the kind! Here be sharp arrows, bunched in quiver, Draw close ere striking -- thou art blind." 'So stand I here, my woes entreating, In this dark alley, lest the Moon Point with her sparkling my barbed armoury, Shine on my silver-laced shoon. 'Oh, sir, unkind this Dame to me-ward; Of the salt billow was her birth. . . . In your sweet charity draw nearer The saddest rogue on Earth!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A FRIEND I CAN'T FIND by JAMES GALVIN MILITARY MIND by CHARLIE SMITH SONNET TO GEORGE SAND: 1. A RECOGNITION by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE IRISH SPINNING-WHEEL by ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES CALDWELL OF SPRINGFIELD [JUNE 23, 1780] by FRANCIS BRET HARTE IN HOSPITAL: 4. BEFORE by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY TOM MOONEY by WILLIAM ELLERY LEONARD |