My mind is sad and weary thinking how Our noblemen are all gone oversea; Are far from Ireland, and are fighting now In France, and Flanders, and in Germany. If they, whom I could talk to without dread, Were home I should not mind what foe might do; Nor see the tax-collector seize my bed To pay the hearth-rate that is overdue. I pray to Him -- who, in the haughty hour Of Babel, threw confusion on each tongue -- That I may see our princes back in power, And see Odell, the tax-collector, hung! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FIRE OF DRIFTWOOD; DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW FORMERLY A SLAVE' (AN IDEALIZED PORTRAIT, BY E. VEDDER) by HERMAN MELVILLE MORAL ESSAYS: EPISTLE 4. TO RICHARD BOYLE, EARL BURLINGTON by ALEXANDER POPE THE ANNOYER by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS THE PITY OF LOVE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |