At purple twilight when the snow lies deep And the cold stars are waking from day-sleep, When farm lights kindle warmly through bare woods Where screech-owls huddle softly in brown hoods, My heart turns, gently humbled, in my breast Toward simple things that age-long use has blessed: A wood-fire on a cottage hearth; a shelf With the Good Book to teach myself my self. A child to lean and learn beside my knee, Or hers, who has been wife and child to me. A quiet bed and unperplexing sleep Near foddered kine and faithfully folded sheep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PEACE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: THE JURY DELIBERATES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A CARELESS HEART by ISAAC ROSENBERG SUMMER SHIRT SALE by CARL SANDBURG THE POET'S TESTAMENT by GEORGE SANTAYANA |