THREE little ducks by a door, Snuggling aside in the sun; The sweep of a threshing-floor, A flail with its One-two, One; A shaggy-haired, loose-limbed mare, Grave as a master at class; A foal with its heels in the air, Rolling, for joy, in the grass; A sunny-eyed, golden-haired lad, Laughing, astride on a wall; A collie-dog, lazily glad... Why do I think of it all? Why? From my window I see Once more, through the dust-dry pane, The sky like a great Dead Sea, And the lash of the London rain; And I read -- here in London town, Of a murder done at my gate, And a goodly ship gone down, And of homes made desolate; And I know, with the old sick heart, That but for a moment's space We may shut our sense, and part From the pain of this tarrying-place. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SACRIFICE by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE LITTLE HILL by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE LORDS OF THE MAIN by JOSEPH STANSBURY THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT [OR AFTER] CORUNNA by CHARLES WOLFE MY ANGUISH by INNOKENTI FYODOROVICH ANNENSKY LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE, THE AUTHOR LEFT .. VERSE by ROBERT BURNS |