HERE'S his ragged "roundabout." . . . Turn the pockets inside out: See; his penknife, lost to use, Rusted shut with apple-juice; Here, with marbles, top and string, Is his deadly "devil-sling," With its rubber, limp at last As the sparrows of the past! Beeswax -- buckles -- leather straps -- Bullets, and a box of caps, -- Not a thing of all, I guess, But betrays some waywardness -- E'en these tickets, blue and red, For the Bible-verses said -- Such as this his mem'ry kept, -- "Jesus wept." Here's a fishing-hook and -line, Tangled up with wire and twine, And dead angleworms, and some Slugs of lead and chewing-gum, Blent with scents that can but come From the oil of rhodium. Here -- a soiled, yet dainty note, That some little sweetheart wrote, Dotting -- "Vine grows round the stump," And -- "My sweetest sugar-lump!" Wrapped in this -- a padlock key Where he's filed a touch-hole -- see! And some powder in a quill Corked up with a liver pill; And a spongy little chunk Of "punk." Here's the little coat -- but O Where is he we've censured so? Don't you hear us calling, dear? Back! come back, and never fear. -- You may wander where you will, Over orchard, field and hill; You may kill the birds, or do Anything that pleases you! Ah, this empty coat of his! Every tatter worth a kiss; Every stain as pure instead As the white stars overhead: And the pockets -- homes were they Of the little hands that play Now no more -- but, absent, thus Beckon us. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SNAKES, MONGOOSES, SNAKE-CHARMERS, AND THE LIKE by MARIANNE MOORE SOUTHERN PACIFIC by CARL SANDBURG TREES AND WAVES by AL-ISRA'ILI THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE WALNUT-TREE OF BOARSTELL: CANTO 2 by WILLIAM BASSE UMBRAE PUELLULARUM by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE ANNIVERSARY by GAMALIEL BRADFORD WRITTEN TO GAALDINE PRISON CAVES TO A.G.A. by EMILY JANE BRONTE |