THE wintry wind blows down the village street, and chills men's whiskers as it fiercely spins. How happy they who have the goods to eat, and bright, warm fires by which to toast their shins! I see the homes where comfort reigns supreme, the windows glow, the chimneys cough up smoke; indoors the kids with merry laughter scream, when Dad turns loose a prehistoric joke. The men who work in summer, spring and fall, may view the winter with unworried brows, rest in their chairs, their feet against the wall, and hear the singing of their cheerful fraus. There's store of onions by the cellar stair, there's bacon hanging by the kitchen door; the kids have shoes and other things to wear, there's lots of kindling on the woodshed floor. And as I look, some delegates go past, the hungry men, who always are on deck; they hunt a hole in which to dodge the blast, all down and out, each one a sorry wreck. They would not work when summer smiled and glowed, and there was work for every willing hand; they loafed and lounged along the open road, they played and dreamed throughout a busy land. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOUSE'S PETITION TO DOCTOR PRIESTLY FOUND IN THE TRAP .. by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE SNOWING OF THE PINES' by THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON RELEASE by GLADYS NAOMI ARNOLD ASHWEDNESDAY by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE PILGRIM SOUL by MATHILDE BLIND THE MASQUERADE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |