The Stuffed Owl by William Wordsworth

How 'bout a bit of silliness taken very seriously for Saturday?

The Stuffed Owl by William Wordsworth

[This is taken from the account given by Miss Jewsbury of the pleasure she derived, when long confined to her bed by sickness, from the inanimate object on which this Sonnet turns.—W.W.]

WHILE Anna’s peers and early playmates tread,
In freedom, the mountain-turf and river’s marge;
Or float with music in the festal barge;
Rein the proud steed, or through the dance are lead;
Her doom it is to press a weary bed—
Till oft her guardian Angel, to some charge
More urgent called, will stretch his wings at large,
And friends too rarely prop the languid head.
Yet, helped by Genius—untired Comforter,
The presence even of a stuffed Owl for her
Can cheat the time; sending her fancy out
To ivied castles and to moonlight skies,
Though he can neither stir a plume, nor shout;
Nor veil, with restless film, his staring eyes.

Yatzhee Fill: Poetry: Foyle's Trout: Gen

Title: Foyle's Trout
Fandom: Foyle's War [TV]
Form: English sonnet
Rating: Gen
Length 108
No. of lines: 14
Prompt:




Above the water, there’s a quiet chap
who never doubts my keen intelligence.
To him, with fin, I tip my scaly cap,
in admiration of his reticence.

His hunt of me is respite, sanctioned leave,
a holiday from sorrows, old and new.
I lead him on a merry chase and grieve
the loss when bigger fish he must pursue.

I’m never tempted by his makeshift flies.
I’m never sorry for the hours we spend.
Those bits of feathered twine are no disguise,
no matter how he tries, my worthy friend.

Between the stream’s thick mud and reeds, we play:
he seeks, and I’m the one who gets away.