WHEN my grandmother once had bewitch'd a poor girl, The mob would have burnt her quite readily; But though fiercely the judge his mustachios might twirl. She refused to confess her crime steadily. And when in the caldron they held her fast, She shouted and yell'd like a craven; But when the black vapour arose, she at last Flew up in the air as a raven. My black and feathery grandmother dear, O visit me soon in this tower! Quick, fly through the grating, and come to me here, And bring me some cakes to devour! My black and feathery grandmother dear, O prythee protect me from sorrow! For my aunt will be picking my eyes out, I fear, When I merrily soar hence to-morrow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FIRST FIG by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY DORIS; A PASTORAL by ARTHUR JOSEPH MUNBY A PENNY'S WORTH OF POESY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS BLUEBEARD by RUTH FITCH BARLETT THE CLUE by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES THE SPINNER by CLARA DOTY BATES |