Grotesque and queerly huddled Contortionists to twist The sleepy soul to a sleep, We lie all sorts of ways And cannot sleep. The wet wind is so cold, And the lurching men so careless, That, should you drop to a doze, Winds' fumble or men's feet Ale on your face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ARCHITECT (2) by KAREN SWENSON THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS IF by EDWARD JAMES MORTIMER COLLINS ODE ON THE POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) THE EXEQUY [ON HIS WIFE] by HENRY KING (1592-1669) |