Of Mice and Men Name: A Mouse” Date: “To DIRECTIONS: Read the following poem and complete a SOAPSTone on it. A Mouse” “To by Robert Burns Oh, tiny timorous forlorn beast, You saw the fields laid bare and waste, Oh why the panic in your breast? And weary winter coming fast, You need not dart away in haste And cosy there beneath the blast, To some corn-rick (bin) You thought to dwell, I'd never run and chase you, Till crash; the cruel ploughman crushed With murdering stick. your little cell. I'm truly sorry man's dominion Your wee bit heap of leaves and stubble, Has broken nature's social union, Had cost you many a weary nibble. And justifies that ill opinion Now you're turned out for all your trouble makes you startle Of house and home At me, your poor earth-born companion, To bear the winter's sleety drizzle, And fellow mortal. And hoar frost cold. I do not doubt you have to thieve; But, mousie, you are not What then? Poor beastie you must live; In proving foresight may be in vain, One ear of corn that's scarcely missed The best laid schemes of mice and men, Is small enough: Go oft astray, I'll share with you all this year's grist, And leave us nothing but grief and pain, Without rebuff. To rend our day. Your wee bit housie too in ruin, Still you art blessed, compared with me! Its fragile walls the winds have strewn, The present only touches thee, And you've nothing new to build a new one, But, oh, I backward cast my eye Of grasses green; On prospects drear, And bleak December winds ensuing, And forward, though I cannot see, Both cold and keen. I guess and fear.
Of Mice and Men Name: “To A Mouse” Date: DIRECTIONS: Read the following poem and complete a SOAPSTone on it. “To A Mouse” by Robert Burns Oh, tiny timorous forlorn beast, Oh why the panic in your breast? You need not dart away in haste To some corn-rick (bin) I'd never run and chase you, With murdering stick. I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken nature's social union, And justifies that ill opinion makes you startle At me, your poor earth-born companion, And fellow mortal. I do not doubt you have to thieve; What then? Poor beastie you must live; One ear of corn that's scarcely missed Is small enough: I'll share with you all this year's grist, Without rebuff. Your wee bit housie too in ruin, Its fragile walls the winds have strewn, And you've nothing new to build a new one, Of grasses green; And bleak December winds ensuing, Both cold and keen. You saw the fields laid bare and waste, And weary winter coming fast, And cosy there beneath the blast, You thought to dwell, Till crash; the cruel ploughman crushed your little cell. Your wee bit heap of leaves and stubble, Had cost you many a weary nibble. Now you're turned out for all your trouble Of house and home To bear the winter's sleety drizzle, And hoar frost cold. But, mousie, you are not In proving foresight may be in vain, The best laid schemes of mice and men, Go oft astray, And leave us nothing but grief and pain, To rend our day. Still you art blessed, compared with me! The present only touches thee, But, oh, I backward cast my eye On prospects drear, And forward, though I cannot see, I guess and fear.
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