ALL wounded sore he lay upon my path, His piteous moans his woeful need confessed; I stooped to find his hurt with searching hand— A poisoned arrow pierced his panting breast. He had a friend who dwelt beside the way, And, running swift, I called to him for aid: "Your comrade lies all wounded to his death; Some secret foe a havoc here has made." Deaf to my call, I saw him crouch and creep, Screened in a laurel's shade, the leaves among He moved to pry and peer and pry again— Within his hand he held a bow unstrung. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WORK by ALEKSANDR SERGEYEVICH PUSHKIN AN ANGLER'S WISH by HENRY VAN DYKE BARCLAY OF URY by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 4. BALLYTULLAGH by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM OH, TORTURE NOT MY SOUL! by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS |