DO you know what it is to be a vagrant born? A waif is only a waif. And so, For another idle hour I sit, In large content while the fire burns low. I gossip here to my crony heart Of the day just over, and count it one Of the royal elemental days, Though its dreams were few and its deeds were none. Outside, the winter; inside, the warmth And a sweet oblivion of turmoil. Why? All for a gentle girlish hand With its warm and lingering good-bye. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BARD'S EPITAPH by ROBERT BURNS FIVE EYES by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE BIRTHNIGHT: TO F by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE LADY by ALEXANDER POPE AGAINST IDLENESS AND MISCHIEF by ISAAC WATTS AT ELLIS ISLAND by MARGARET LIVINGSTON CHANLER ALDRICH |