WHEN in the bag thy hops the rustic treads, Let him wear heelless sandals; nor presume Their fragrancy barefooted to defile: Such filthy ways for slaves in Malaga Leave we to practisewhence I've often seen, When beautiful Dorinda's iv'ry hand Has built the pastry fabric (food divine For Christmas gambols, and the hour of mirth), As the dried foreign fruit, with piercing eye, She culls suspiciouslo! she starts, she frowns With indignation at the Negro's nail. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE ELF-MAN by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS MY MOTHER'S BIBLE by GEORGE POPE MORRIS THE BLACK PANTHER by JOHN HALL WHEELOCK ON THE WATERFRONT by WILLIAM ROSE BENET NOT UNDERSTOOD by THOMAS BRACKEN TO EMILY DICKINSON by MARY BOWEN BRAINERD |