The blood-red Comet, which, in fiery sweep, Burns round the welkin, threatening each beholder With War or Plague ere Time be greatly older, Bids, I protest, no deadlier terrors creep Through my pale veins, nor makes my chilled heart colder Than doth my Dun when, with a sly, bo-peep Abord and aspect, stealth' as a sheep, He taps me, catch-pole fashion, on the shoulder. Such Comet is, no doubt, a terrible sight; Still, staring at it from one's tenth-flat attic, One knows what time 'twill go, and come, and go; But where, or when, at morn, eve, noon, or night, My Comet will flare up I never know - His movements are so desperately erratic! At last, gathering courage from despair itself. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RAIN AFTER A VAUDEVILLE SHOW by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE CANTERBURY TALES: THE GENERAL PROLOGUE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER TWO OF A TRADE by SAMUEL WILLOUGHBY DUFFIELD IT COULDN'T BE DONE by EDGAR ALBERT GUEST THE BOATMAN by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |