ARITHMETIC nine digits, and no more, Admits of; then I still have all my store, For what mischance hath ta'en from my left hand, It seems did only for a cipher stand, But this I'll say for thee, departed joint, Thou wert not given to steal, nor pick, nor point At any in disgrace; but thou didst go Untimely to thy death, only to show The other members what they once must do: Hand, arm, leg, thigh, and all must follow too. Oft didst thou scan my verse, where if I miss, Henceforth I will impute the cause to this. A finger's loss (I speak it not in sport) Will make a verse a foot too short, Farewell, dear finger, much I grieve to see How soon mischance hath made a hand of thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A NEWPORT ROMANCE by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT THE INDIAN SERENADE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY A BROADWAY PAGEANT by WALT WHITMAN INCIDENT CHARACTERISTIC OF A FAVOURITE DOG by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH A PARTING SONG by WILLIAM AITKEN |