Fists in torn pockets I departed. My overcoat grew ideal too. I walked, your knight, O Muse, And dreamed, O my! what glorious loves. My only trousers had a hole. Little Tom Thumb, I dropped my dreaming rhymes. My lodging was the Great Bear Inn, And in the sky my stars were rustling. I listened, seated by the road- In soft September-where the dew Was wine of vigor on my face; And in weird shadows rhyming, plucked like lyres, The laces of my martyred shoes, One foot against my heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NAMING FOR LOVE by HAYDEN CARRUTH IN EQUAL SACRIFICE by ROBERT FROST SPECIAL EFFECTS by JAMES GALVIN WHAT I'VE BELIEVED IN by JAMES GALVIN CURTAIN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON AN EXPLANATION by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |