One who, the self-same morning, had decoyed The widow and her son with glozing talk, At eve through springing pastures walked abroad, And, after his poor sort, enjoyed his walk. That night he dreamed: fresh flowers and April grass Smothered his cruel pen; the white lamb kneeled Upon his crafty parchments, signed and sealed By victim hands; a babbling stream did pass Sheer through those written wiles, till that base ink, Which robb'd the widow's mite, the orphan's dole, Lost colour. But that dream-begotten blink Of damage waked at once his mammon-soul; From his keen glance all vernal tokens shrink While Fraud and Twilight watch the lying scroll. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...1914: 4. THE DEAD by RUPERT BROOKE DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI: 7. THE SILENCE by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER TRUST IN GOD by NORMAN MACLEOD (1812-1872) THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF THE LIFE AND DEATH OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE TO GIOVANNI DA PISTOIA ON THE PAINTING OF THE SISTINE CHAPEL, 1509 by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI TO MISS F. B. ON ASKING FOR MRS. BARBAULD'S LOVE AND TIME by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |