Eight OClock
He stood, and heard the steeple
Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
It tossed them down.
Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour,
He stood and counted them and cursed his luck;
And then the clock collected in the tower
Its strength, and struck.
Poem by
A E Housman
Biography |
Poems
| Best Poems | Short Poems
| Quotes
|
Email Poem |
More Poems by A E Housman
Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on Eight OClock
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Eight OClock here.
Commenting turned off, sorry.