Author Walter de la Mare All but blind In his chambered hole, Gropes for worms The four-clawed mole. All but blind In the burning day, The barn owl Blunders on her way. And blind as are These three to me, So blind to someone I must be. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 4.2 (12 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments