Up in my tower I sat alone, Telling myself in a mournful tone How sinfully blind were ancient men Who stoned the prophets preaching then, When down in the street I heard a cry And the feet of many rushing by. "There in the market place he stands, A tall, thin prophet with long thin hands! Come and get a paving stone, come and get a brick, Come and get a house-tile and stone him, quick!" How could I think of ancient things? I went down the stairs as if on wings, I ran with the crowd to the market place And flung an ink bottle full in his face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGY: THE GHOST WHOSE LIPS WERE WARM; FOR GEOFFREY GORER by EDITH SITWELL THE SICKNESS by CHARLES BUKOWSKI LITTLE BROWN BABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR FOR THE YOUNGEST by CHARLES WESLEY CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: 8. OF CONSTANCY by WILLIAM BASSE |