WE'VE made our jails so snug and warm, impervious to cold and storm, that Richard Roe is glad to dwell all winter in his cozy cell. We've cleaned the walls and scrubbed the floors, and whitewashed ceilings, bars and doors, till sanitation cranks declare there are no harmful microbes there. The jail's inspected now and then by uplift dames and faddish men, who analyze the forks and spoons and push their noses in the prunes. The parsons there distribute tracts, and scientists take useful facts; we all take books and magazines, and floral wreaths and kindred greens, and try to make the village jug more cheerful still, and still more snug. And from the window Richard Roe looks out upon the drifting snow, and sees the poor unlucky jays, who have not drawn their sixty days, by weary efforts strive to earn some grub to eat, some coal to burn. "How foolish are the sons of toil, who sweat to make the kettle boil, since luxury like this they'd know, if they were vags," sighs Richard Roe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VISION by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE WIDOW'S MITE by FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON SARRAZINE'S SONG, FR. CHAITIVEL by MARIE DE FRANCE THE AEOLIAN HARP; AT THE SURF INN by HERMAN MELVILLE EPITHALAMION by EDMUND SPENSER CAROLINA [JANUARY, 1865] by HENRY TIMROD IN YOUTH IS PLEASURE by ROBERT WEVER |