WHEN at each door the ruffian winds Have laid a dying man to groan, And filled the air on winter nights With cries of infants left alone; And every thing that has a bed Will sigh for others that have none: On such a night, when bitter cold, Young Beauty, full of love thoughts sweet, Can redden in her looking-glass; With but one gown on, in bare feet, She from her own reflected charms Can feel the joy of summer's heat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MEMORY OF MARTHA by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE DREAMER by SHAEMAS O'SHEEL THE CAT OF CATS by WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS PROSOPOPOIA, OR MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE by EDMUND SPENSER IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 14 by ALFRED TENNYSON LOVE'S CALENDAR by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 4. BALLYTULLAGH by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |