And this reft house is that the which he built, Lamented Jack! and here his malt he piled, Cautious in vain! these rats that squeak so wild, Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt. Did ye not see her gleaming through the glade! Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn. What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn, Yet, aye, she haunts the dale where erst she stray'd; And, aye, beside her stalks her amorous knight! Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn, And through those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn, His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white; As when through broken clouds at night's high noon Peeps in fair fragments forth the full orb'd harvest moon! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARTING LOVERS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING CITY TREES by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY TO S.M., A YOUNG AFRICAN PAINTER, ON SEEING HIS WORKS by PHILLIS WHEATLEY VILLANELLE: AU RETOUR DU PRINTEMPS by PHILIP SCHUYLER ALLEN ANACREON by ANTIPATER OF SIDON MY WINTER ROSE by ALFRED AUSTIN THIRD REUNION POEM by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |