SEVEN buxom women abreast, and arm in arm, Trudge down the hill, tip-toed, And breathing warm; They must perforce trudge thus, to keep upright On the glassy ice-bound road, And they must get to market whether or no, Provisions running low With the nearing Saturday night, While the lumbering van wherein they mostly ride Can nowise go: Yet loud their laughter as they stagger and slide! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANNIVERS: BAPTISMT by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE DHOON by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN VERSES TO MISS GRAHAM OF FINTRY by ROBERT BURNS THE FORMER AGE (AFTER BOETHIUS) by GEOFFREY CHAUCER THE BALLAD OF ST. BARBARA by GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON OTHERS by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. |