SAID a wistful daw in Saint Peter's tower, High above Casterbridge slates and tiles, Why do the walls of my Gothic bower Shiver, and shrill out sounds for miles? This gray old rubble Has scorned such din Since I knew trouble And joy herein. How still did abide them These bells now swung, While our nest beside them Securely clung!. . . It means some snare For our feet or wings; But I'll beware Of such baleful things!" And forth he flew from his louvred niche To take up life in a damp dark ditch. -- So mortal motives are misread, And false designs attributed, In upper spheres of straws and sticks, Or lower, of pens and politics. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE TO TRANQUILLITY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE WHITE SHIPS AND THE RED by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER LOVE IN A COTTAGE by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS THE INDIAN UPON GOD by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A MOOD by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH LOUISBERG SQUARE by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |