O, the fun, the fun and frolic That The Wind that Shakes the Barley Scatters through a penny-whistle Tickled with artistic fingers! Kate the scrubber (forty summers, Stout but supportive) treads a measure, Grinning, in herself a ballet, Fixed as fate upon her audience. Stumps are shaking, crutch-supported; Splintered fingers tap the rhythm; And a head all helmed with plasters Wags a measured approbation. Of their mattress-life oblivious, All the patients, brisk and cheerful, Are encouraging the dancer, And applauding the musician. Dim the gas-lights in the output Of so many ardent smokers, Full of shadow lurch the corners, And the doctor peeps and passes. There are, maybe, some suspicions Of an alcoholic presence . . . 'Tak' a sup of this, my wumman!' . . . New Year comes but once a twelvemonth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LETTER FROM ITALY by JOSEPH ADDISON IN A GONDOLA by ROBERT BROWNING WHERE GO THE BOATS? by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE MAY QUEEN by ALFRED TENNYSON JANUARY MORNING by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS MISTS by WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG |