There is an umbrella from the old town
It shades the broken lads from the rain
And mends the widow's last hope
But the rain resounds not in its roof ...
I run every nooks and crannies
Looking for you that wasn't found in me
Because I knew that you weren't here
But at the discovery of you I cooled off ...
When a bar of pure silver or ingot of gold
Is sent to be flatted or wrought into length,
It is pass'd between cylinders often, and roll'd
In an engine of utmost mechanical strength.
Thus tortured and squeezed, at last it appears
Like a loose heap of ribbon, a glittering show,
Like music it tinkles and rings in your ears,
... Read complete poem
