'Get up!' the caller calls, 'Get up!' And in the dead of night, To win the bairns their bite and sup, I rise a weary wight. My flannel dudden donn'd, thrice o'er My birds are kiss'd, and then I with a whistle shut the door, I may not ope again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE INEVITABLE by SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON WE WEAR THE MASK by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SUMMER SUN by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON MANSONG: CHORAL by MARCUS ADENEY MON REPOS (MY MOTHER'S GIRLHOOD HOME) by ALFRED BARRETT JERUSALEM by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |