'Get up!' the caller calls, 'Get up!' And in the dead of night, To win the bairns their bite and sup, I rise a weary wight. My flannel dudden donn'd, thrice o'er My birds are kiss'd, and then I with a whistle shut the door, I may not ope again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PRAYERS OF STEEL by CARL SANDBURG THE DAY-DREAM: THE SLEEPING PALACE by ALFRED TENNYSON YEW-TREES by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TO A LADY TO ANSWER DIRECTLY WITH YEA OR NAY by THOMAS WYATT AH, BIND MY HANDS by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS RAMESES WORSHIPS RAMESES AT ABU SIMBEL by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |