A WHIMSICAL set we must often seem, Of crochets as full as an organist's dream; If we were abolished, there'd straightway be A piscatorian jubilee. We are frequently clothed in a snowy array As a maiden fair on her bridal day; Yet we're often black as the blackest night, E'en when we're lauding the soft moonlight. The depths of the ocean we faithfully show; On us hundreds of miles you may swiftly go; We measure the distance from place to place, And encircle the globe in our wide embrace. Woe, woe to the soldier who dares to fly From us when the hour of battle is nigh! Yet the gardener himself, in his peaceful trade, For planting his cabbages needs our aid. If a lady endeavors her age to hide, We ruthlessly publish it far and wide Wherever she ventures to show her head; Yet in us her destiny oft is read. In the heart of a friend long, long forsaken A tew of ourselves may deep gladness awaken, Yet ours is a many-stringed, changeful lyre, For dismay and despair we may often inspire. We're essential to poets, to artists, musicians, To all washerwomen, and mathematicians; It required a Euclid to tell what we be, Yet us at this moment, fair reader, you see. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WISDOM COMETH WITH THE YEARS by COUNTEE CULLEN IN QUEST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ADVICE TO A RAVEN IN RUSSIA by JOEL BARLOW THE IDEA OF BALANCE IS TO BE FOUND IN HERONS AND LOONS by JAMES HARRISON A BIRTHDAY by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI TREES AND WAVES by AL-ISRA'ILI THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 50. FAREWELL TO JULIET (12) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |