Aaron Stark

 Withal a meagre man was Aaron Stark, --
Cursed and unkempt, shrewd, shrivelled, and morose.

A miser was he, with a miser's nose,
And eyes like little dollars in the dark.

His thin, pinched mouth was nothing but a mark;
And when he spoke there came like sullen blows
Through scattered fangs a few snarled words and close,
As if a cur were chary of its bark.


Glad for the murmur of his hard renown,
Year after year he shambled through the town, --
A loveless exile moving with a staff;
And oftentimes there crept into his ears
A sound of alien pity, touched with tears, --
And then (and only then) did Aaron laugh.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...