To a Goose

If thou didst feed on western plains of yore

Or waddle wide with flat and flabby feet

Over some Cambrian mountain's plashy moor,

Or find in farmer's yard a safe retreat

From gipsy thieves and foxes sly and fleet;

If thy grey quills by lawyer guided, trace

Deeds big with ruin to some wretched race,

Or love-sick poet's sonnet, sad and sweet,

Wailing the rigour of some lady fair;

Or if, the drudge of housemaid's daily toil,

Cobwebs and dust thy pinion white besoil,

Departed goose! I neither know nor care.

But this I know, that thou wert very fine,

Seasoned with sage and onions and port wine.

0 commentaires:

Twitter Delicious Facebook Digg Stumbleupon Favorites More