HO! ho! Ye Scholar recketh not how lean His lank frame waxeth in ye hectic gloom That smeareth o'er ye dim walls of his room His wavering shadow! Shut is he, I ween, Like as a withered nosegay, in between Ye musty, mildewed leaves of some volume Of ancient lore ye moth and he consume In jointure. Yet a something in his mien Forbids all mockery, though quaint is he, And eke fantastical in form and face As that Old Knight ye Tale of Chivalry Made mad immortally, yet spared y grace Of some rare virtue which we sigh to see, And pour our laughter out most tenderly. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A COUNTRY BURIAL by EMILY DICKINSON A WORKING PARTY by SIEGFRIED SASSOON ON BEING BROUGHT FROM AFRICA TO AMERICA by PHILLIS WHEATLEY HELLENS RAPE; OR A LIGHT LANTHORNE FOR LIGHT LADIES by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE TROUBLED SPIRIT by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN TOWERING OVER THE WRECKS OF TIME by JOHN BOWRING OSWEGO LAKE by MARGARET BRADSHAW THE AULD FARMER'S NEW YEAR MORNING SALUTATION ... AULD MARE by ROBERT BURNS |