 | The Woodman, and other poems |  |
29
QUARLES.
Dry as a July drouth,
And a simoon from the south,
Art thou, Sahara Quarles!
I love thee not;
Blaze 'neath the pot,
'Tis the best thing that I can do for thee,
To make thee accelerate cookery.
And a simoon from the south,
Art thou, Sahara Quarles!
I love thee not;
Blaze 'neath the pot,
'Tis the best thing that I can do for thee,
To make thee accelerate cookery.
Dusty and dry,
Thou wouldst the eyeball of a saint defy;
Thy emblems seem
A staircase in a choking dream,
Yet Herbert said,
Thy chip had his provoking hunger stayed.
Thou wouldst the eyeball of a saint defy;
Thy emblems seem
A staircase in a choking dream,
Yet Herbert said,
Thy chip had his provoking hunger stayed.
| The Woodman, and other poems | |