Perched on his bough, a monster raven makes the one strong note etched black upon the snow. But no! a stooping stout old goody takes her painful way, mumbling, stumbling and slow. What a wind-reddened nose, for gracious sakes! Her left arm in her apron—frost hurts so!— in her right hand a garnished platter shakes, and how that pickled herring makes a show! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VICARIOUS ATONEMENT by RICHARD ALDINGTON THE SOCIOLOGY OF TOYOTAS AND JADE CHRYSANTHEMUMS by HAYDEN CARRUTH OCTAVES: 8 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON ACCOMPLISHED FACTS by CARL SANDBURG EASTER HYMN by GEORGE SANTAYANA IN THE SUBWAY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER |