An affable Irregular, A heavily-built Falstaffian man, Comes cracking jokes of civil war As though to die by gunshot were The finest play under the sun. A brown Lieutenant and his men, Half dressed in national uniform, Stand at my door, and I complain Of the foul weather, hail and rain, A pear-tree broken by the storm. I count those feathered balls of soot The moor-hen guides upon the stream. To silence the envy in my thought; And turn towards my chamber, caught In the cold snows of a dream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH ON HIMSELF by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE ON THE DEPARTURE PLATFORM by THOMAS HARDY AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT - BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS by HERMAN MELVILLE RIDDLE: A CANDLE by MOTHER GOOSE GOOD-NIGHT by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS |