Straight remnant of the spiry birchen bough, | a | ||||
That over the streamlet wont perchance to quake | b | ||||
Thy many twinkling leaves and, bending low, | a | ||||
Beheld thy white rind dancing on the lake — | b | ||||
5 |
How doth thy present state, poor stick! awake | b | |||
My pathos — for, alas! even stripped as thou | a | ||||
May be my beating breast, if ever forsake | b | ||||
Philisto this poor heart; and break his vow. | a | ||||
So musing on, I fare with many a sigh | c | ||||
10 |
And meditating then on times long past, | d | |||
To thee, lorn pole! I look with tearful eye, | c | ||||
As all beside the floor-soiled pail thou art cast; | d | ||||
And my sad thoughts, while I behold thee twirled, | e | ||||
Turn on the twistings of this troublous world. | e | ||||
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