A bull imprisoned in a stall
Broke boldly the confining wall,
And found himself, when out of bounds,
Within a washerwoman's grounds.
Where, hanging on a line to dry,
A crimson skirt inflamed his eye.
With bellowings that woke the dead,
He bent his formidable head,
With pointed horns and gnarly forehead;
Then, planting firm his shoulders horrid,
Began, with rage made half insane,
To paw the arid earth amain,
Flinging the dust upon his flanks
In desolating clouds and banks,
The while his eyes' uneasy white
Betrayed his doubt what foe the bright
Red tent concealed, perchance, from sight.
The garment, which, all undismayed,
Had never paled a single shade,
Now found a tongue-a dangling sock,
Left carelessly inside the smock:
'I must insist, my gracious liege,
That you'll be pleased to raise the siege:
My colors I will never strike.
I know your sex-you're all alike.
Some small experience I've had
You're not the first I've driven mad.'
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Challenge by Ambrose Bierce )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- No number, gajanan mishra
- We Are Tourist, Aftab Alam
- Two Baldy Ladies, Neela Nath
- The Painter Rearranges the Mirrors (1415), Cole Swensen
- OUR STREETS, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- The Evolution of the Garden, Cole Swensen
- Dr Dalek, Stratis Havarti
- No legal bar, gajanan mishra
- Make believe, hasmukh amathalal
- Informed World, Tirupathi Chandrupatla