THE currants, moonlit as Mother Bunch, In their thick-bustled leaves were laughing like Punch; And, ruched as their country waterfalls The cherried maids walk beneath the dark walls. Where the moonlight was falling thick as curd Through the cherry-branches, half-unheard, Said old Mrs. Bunch, the crop-eared owl, To her gossip: "If once I began to howl, I am sure that my sobs would drown the seas -- With my 'oh's,' and my 'ah's,' and my 'oh dear me's!' Everything wrong from cradle to grave -- No money to spend, no money to save!" And the currant-bush began to rustle As poor Mrs. Bunch arranged her bustle. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON VIOLET'S WAFERS, SENT ME WHEN I WAS ILL by SIDNEY LANIER DOMESDAY BOOK: ANTON SOSNOWSKI by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IS YOUR TOWN NINEVEH? by MARIANNE MOORE TO WHISTLER, AMERICAN; ON LOAN EXHIBIT OF PAINTINGS AT TATE GALLERY by EZRA POUND SANTA FE SKETCHES by CARL SANDBURG |