I BROUGHT in these to make her kitchen sweet, Haw blossoms and the roses of the lane. Her heart seemed in her eyes so wild they beat With welcome for the boughs of Spring again. She never heard of Babylon or Troy, She read no book, but once saw Dublin town; Yet she made a poet of her servant boy And from Parnassus earned the laurel crown. If Fame, the Gorgon, turns me into stone Upon some city square, let someone place Thorn blossoms and lane roses newly blown Beside my feet, and underneath them trace: "His heart was like a bookful of girls' song, With little loves and mighty Care's alloy. These did he bring his muse, and suffered long, Her bashful singer and her servant boy." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEW YEAR'S EVE by DAVID IGNATOW HOLY THURSDAY, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE SECOND BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 3 by GAIUS VALERIUS CATULLUS THE PLOUGHER [OR PLOWER] by PADRAIC COLUM A VALEDICTION: OF MY NAME IN THE WINDOW by JOHN DONNE A SNOW-STORM; SCENE IN A VERMONT WINTER by CHARLES GAMAGE EASTMAN CYNTHIADES: TO CYNTHIA ON CONCEALMENT OF HER BEAUTY by FRANCIS KYNASTON |