It is the grey rock I am, And grey rain on the rock: It is the grey wave . . . That grey hound. What (is it) to be old: (It is to be as) the grey moss in winter: Alasdair-mo-ghaol, It is long since my laughter. Alasdair-mo-ghaol, The breast is shrivelled That you said was white As canna in wind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OLD MEN ON THE COURTHOUSE LAWN, MURRAY, KENTUCKY by JAMES GALVIN THREE SONNETS by RICHARD WILBUR MODULATIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PLEDGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DISMAL MOMENT PASSING by CLARENCE MAJOR DOMESDAY BOOK: ANTON SOSNOWSKI by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MONODY ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM MARION REEDY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |