THE doors are shut, the windows fast, Outside the gust is driving past, Outside the shivering ivy clings, While on the hob the kettle sings. Margery, Margery, make the tea, Singeth the kettle merrily. The streams are hushed up where they flowed, The ponds are frozen along the road, The cattle are housed in shed and byre, While singeth the kettle on the fire. Margery, Margery, make the tea, Singeth the kettle merrily. The fisherman on the bay in his boat Shivers and buttons up his coat; The traveller stops at the tavern door, And the kettle answers the chimney's roar. Margery, Margery, make the tea, Singeth the kettle merrily. The firelight dances upon the wall, Footsteps are heard in the outer hall, And a kiss and a welcome that fill the room, And the kettle sings in the glimmer and gloom. Margery, Margery, make the tea, Singeth the kettle merrily. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IDEA: TO THE READER OF THESE SONNETS, INTRODUCTION by MICHAEL DRAYTON PASSER MORTUUS EST by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE POET AND HIS BOOK by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE ARTILLERYMAN'S VISION by WALT WHITMAN POLYHYMNIA: DEDICATION TO THE COUNTESS OF LINDSEY by WILLIAM BASSE ABRAHAM by JOHN STUART BLACKIE THE ANCRE AT HAMEL: AFTERWARDS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN MR. MERRY'S LAMENT FOR LONG TOM by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 31 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |