The broad, black ribbon she had thought his basket
Must hang from, held instead a useless arm.
“I do not wonder, Madam, that you ask it.”
He smiled, for she had spoke aloud. “The charm
Of trout fishing is in my eyes enhanced
When you must play your fish on land as well.”
“How will you take him?” Eunice asked. “In truth
I really cannot tell.
'Twas stupid of me, but it simply chanced
I never thought of that until he glanced
Into the branches. 'Tis a bit uncouth.”
Pickthorn Manor: 10
Amy Lowell
(1)
Poem topics: fish, fishing, never, truth, play, black, charm, stupid, basket, thought, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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