Now that I am dressed I'll go Down to where the roses blow, I'll pluck a fair and fragrant one And make my mother pin it on: Now she's laughing, so am I -- Oh the blueness of the sky! Down the street, turn to the right, Round the corner out of sight; Pass the church and out of town -- Dust does show on boots of brown, I'd better brush them while I can -- Step out, Peadar, be a man! Here's a field and there's a stile, Shall I jump it? wait a while, Scale it gently, stretch a foot Across the mud in that big rut And I'm still clean -- faith, I'm not! Get some grass and rub the spot. Dodge those nettles! Here the stream, Bubbling onward with a gleam Steely white, and black, and grey, Bends the rushes on its way -- What's that moving? It's a rat Washing his whiskers; isn't he fat? Here the cow with the crumpledy horn Whisks her tail and looks forlorn She wants a milkmaid bad I guess, How her udders swell and press Against her legs -- And here's some sheep; And there's the shepherd, fast asleep. This is a sad and lonely field, Thistles are all that it can yield; I'll cross it quick, nor look behind, There's nothing in it but the wind: And if those bandy-legged trees Could talk they'd only curse or sneeze. A sour, unhappy, sloppy place -- That boot's loose! I'll tie the lace So, and jump this little ditch, ...Her father's really very rich: He'll be angry -- There's a crow, Solemn blackhead! Off you go! There a big, grey, ancient ass Is snoozing quiet in the grass; He hears me coming, starts to rise, Wags his big ears at the flies: ...What'll I say when -- There's a frog, Go it, long-legs -- jig, jig-jog. He'll be angry, say -- "Pooh, pooh, Boy, you know not what you do!" Shakespeare stuff and good advice, Fat old duffer -- Those field mice Have a good time playing round Through the corn and underground. But her mother is friends with mine, She always asks us out to dine, And dear Nora, curly head, Loves me; so at least she said. ...Damn that ass's hee-hee-haw -- Was that a rabbit's tail I saw? This is the house, Lord, I'm afraid! A man does suffer for a maid. ...How will I start? The graining's new On the door -- Oh pluck up, do. Don't stand shivering there like that ...The knocker's funny -- Rat-tat-tat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A POEM FOR MAX NORDAU by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE OLD VICARAGE, GRANTCHESTER by RUPERT BROOKE NON SUM QUALIS ERAM BONAE SUB REGNO CYNARAE by ERNEST CHRISTOPHER DOWSON TO THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE AMERICANS UNDER GENERAL GREENE by PHILIP FRENEAU WHAT THE SONNET IS by EUGENE JACOB LEE-HAMILTON VOICES OF THE NIGHT: PRELUDE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 40. PANTHEISTIC DREAMS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |