HIS kind velvet bonnet Warmly lies upon My weary lap, and on it My tears run. The black and furry fire Sinks low, and like the dire Sound of charring coal, the black Cat's whirring back. On the bare bough A few blue threadbare leaves, A few blue plaided leaves grow Like mornings and like eves. Scotch bonnet, bonny, Lying on my gown, The fire was once, hey nonny, A battlemented town; And every morn I build Those steep castles there, And every night they're ruined Like the boughs bare. And nothing doth remain, Kind bonny, but my pain, And night and morn, like boughs they're bare, With nobody to care. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MONADNOCK IN EARLY SPRING by AMY LOWELL THE DESIRE OF NATIONS by EDWIN MARKHAM DOMEDAY BOOK: JOHN CAMPBELL AND CARL EATON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOHN WASSON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE LITTLE PEOPLES by CLAUDE MCKAY |