Grotesque and queerly huddled Contortionists to twist The sleepy soul to a sleep, We lie all sorts of ways And cannot sleep. The wet wind is so cold, And the lurching men so careless, That, should you drop to a doze, Winds' fumble or men's feet Ale on your face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE: BOOK 1. CANTO 2. PRELUDE: LOVE AT LARGE by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 8. BE QUICK AND SURE by PHILIP AYRES THE BURIED FLOWER by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN TRAVELLER BY NIGHT, SELECTION by JOANNA BAILLIE SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 31. A QUESTION by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |