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Poem: Song of the Mad Prince

Who said, “Peacock Pie”?
The old King to the sparrow:
Who said, “Crops are ripe”?
Rust to the harrow:
Who said, “Where sleeps she now?
Where rests she now her head,
Bathed in eve’s loveliness”? —
That’s what I said.

Who said, “Ay, mum’s the word”?
Sexton to willow:
Who said, “Green dusk for dreams,
Moss for a pillow”?
Who said, “All Time’s delight
Hath she for narrow bed;
Life’s troubled bubble broken”? —
That’s what I said.

- Walter de la Mare
Indexing:

Posts from This Journal by “poetry” Tag

  • Poem: The Mother Bird

    - Walter de la Mare Through the green twilight of a hedge I peered, with cheek on the cool leaves pressed, And spied a bird upon a nest: Two eyes…

  • Poem: The moon on the one hand

    - Hilaire Belloc The moon on the one hand, the dawn on the other: The moon is my sister, the dawn is my brother. The moon on my left and the dawn…

  • Poem: as freedom is a breakfastfood

    - e.e. cummings as freedom is a breakfastfood or truth can live with right and wrong or molehills are from mountains made —long enough and…