With what attentive courtesy he bent
Over his instrument;
Not as a lordly conquerer who could
Command both wire and wood,
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody loves,
A young Apollo, golden-haired,
Stands dreaming on the verge of strife,
For the long littleness of life.
When I was twenty inches long,
I could not hear the thrush's song;
The radiance of the morning skies
Was most displeasing to my eyes.
MY father's friend came once to tea.
He laughed and talked. He spoke to me.
But in another week they said
I wakened on my hot, hard bed;
Upon the pillow lay my head;
Beneath the pillow I could hear
My little watch was ticking clear.
I laid me down upon the shore
And dreamed a little space;
I heard the great waves break and roar;
The sun was on my face.
I Had a little dog, and my dog was very small;
He licked me in the face, and he answered to my call;
As on the highway's quiet edge
He mows the grass beside the hedge,
The old man has for company
The distant, grey, salt-smelling sea,
Brave English language, you are strong as trees,
Yet intricate and stately. Thus one sees
Through branches clear-embroidered stars. You please