Bank feels no lameness of his knotty gout, His monies travel for him, in and out: And though the soundest legs go every day, He toils to be at hell, as soon as they. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 27 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A RENUNCIATION by EDWARD DE VERE THE BIGLOW PAPERS: 6. THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL SIR GALAHAD by ALFRED TENNYSON FOR MY CHILD by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE TULIP AND THE LILY, SELECTION by JAMES BARCLAY CHRISTMASSE DAY by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |