His Grange, Or Private Wealth - Poem by Robert Herrick
To tell how night draws hence, I've none,
I have to sing how day draws on:
A maid, my Prue, by good luck sent,
That little, Fates me gave or lent.
I keep, which, creeking day by day,
She goes her long white egg to lay:
I have, which, with a jealous ear,
Her tongue, to tell what danger's near.
I keep, tame, with my morsels fed,
An orphan left him, lately dead:
I keep, that plays about my house,
With eating many a miching mouse:
A Trasy I do keep, whereby
The more my rural privacy:
But toys, to give my heart some ease:--
None is, slight things do lightly please.
Comments about His Grange, Or Private Wealth by Robert Herrick
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye