Out of sorts with politics and authority, the speaker picks up a broken root and flings it after a squirrel. Rather than being cowed, the animal springs from one tree to another, making a low whinnying sound that seems almost like laughter. The speaker is half annoyed, half admiring. His throw doesn’t touch the squirrel’s confidence; the creature simply moves on with a bound. What strikes him is how little this wild energy owes to human qualities. No “tame will” or “timid brain” bred its fierce tooth and clean limbs, and no committee or ruler made it leap. The final line—“No government appointed him”—says it plainly. The squirrel’s freedom, grace, and even its mockery come from nature, not from any system. The mood is wry and playful, but also a little envious: the speaker turns a frustrated impulse into an appreciation of wild independence.
An Appointment — Summary
Being out of heart with government I took a broken root to fling Where the proud, wayward squirrel went, Taking delight that he could spring; And he, with that low whinnying sound That is like laughter, sprang again And so to the other tree at a bound. Nor the tame will, nor timid brain, Bred that fierce tooth and cleanly limb And threw him up to laugh on the bough; No government appointed him.