Classic Poem

Three little ducks by a door,
Snuggling aside in the sun;
The sweep of a threshing-floor
A flail with its One-two, One;

A shaggy-haired, loose-limbed mare,
Grave as a master at class;
A foal with its heels in the air,
Rolling, for joy, in the grass;

A sunny-eyed, golden-haired lad,
Laughing, astride on a wall;
A collie-dog, lazily glad…
Why do I think of it all?

Why? From my window I see
Once more, through the dust-dry pane,
The sky like a great Dead Sea,
And the lash of the London rain;

And I read—here in London town,
Of a murder done at my gate,
And a goodly ship gone down,
And of homes made desolate;

And I know, with the old sick heart,
That but for a moment's space
We may shut our sense, and part
From the pain of this tarrying-place.