GREY as a guinea-fowl is the rain Squawking down from the boughs again. "Anne, Anne, Go fill the pail," Said the old witch who sat on the rail. "Though there is a hole in the bucket, Anne, Anne, It will fill my pocket; The water-drops when they cross my doors Will turn to guineas and gold moidores. . . ." The well-water hops across the floors; Whimpering, "Anne" it cries, implores, And the guinea-fowl-plumaged rain, Squawking down from the boughs again, Cried, "Anne, Anne, go fill the bucket, There is a hole in the witch's pocket -- And the water-drops like gold moidores, Obedient girl, will surely be yours. So, Anne, Anne, Go fill the pail Of the old witch who sits on the rail!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARJORIE'S WOOING by EMMA LAZARUS THE VIKING GRAVE AT LADBY by KAREN SWENSON MARIANNA ALCOFORANDO by SARA TEASDALE MUSKETAQUID by RALPH WALDO EMERSON LINES WRITTEN TO HIS WIFE [WHILE ON A VISIT TO UPPER INDIA] by REGINALD HEBER HORATIUS [AT THE BRIDGE], FR. LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY |