Ye old mule that think yourself so fair, Leave off with craft your beauty to repair, For it is true without any fable No man setteth more by riding in your saddle. Too much travail so do your train appair, Ye old mule. With false savours though you deceive the air, Whoso taste you shall well perceive your lair Savoureth somewhat of a kappur's stable, Ye old mule. Ye must now serve to market and to fair, All for the burden, for panniers a pair; For since grey hairs been powdered in your sable, The thing ye seek for you must yourself enable To purchase it by payment and by prayer, Ye old mule. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WINDOW; OR, THE SONG OF THE WRENS: THE LETTER by ALFRED TENNYSON LETTY'S GLOBE by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER DESERT WIFE by NELLIE COOLEY ALDER THE BABY-HOUSE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD A CHRISTMAS CAMP ON THE SAN GABR'EL by AMELIA EDITH HUDDLESTON BARR TIRESOME SPRING by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER |