A week ago I had a fire, To warm my feet, my hands and face; Cold winds, that never make a friend, Crept in and out of every place. To-day, the fields are rich in grass, And buttercups in thousands grow; I'll show the World where I have been — With gold-dust seen on either shoe. Till to my garden back I come, Where bumble-bees, for hours and hours, Sit on their soft, fat, velvet bums, To wriggle out of hollow flowers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE SHADOWS: 2 by DAVID GRAY (1838-1861) AFTER DEATH by FRANCES ISABEL PARNELL MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 7 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SONG OF THE BROAD-AXE by WALT WHITMAN AFTER THE NIGHT by NOUREDDIN ADDIS DRINKING SONG (4) by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): MEDEA'S HESITATION by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS |