Around the fire, one winter night, The farmer's rosy children sat; The faggot lent its blazing light, And jokes went round, and careless chat. When, hark! a gentle hand they hear Low tapping at the bolted door; And thus to gain their willing ear, A feeble voice was heard t' implore: -- "Cold blows the blast across the moor: The sleet drives hissing in the wind: Yon toilsome mountain lies before; A dreary treeless waste behind. "My eyes are weak and dim with age; No road, no path, can I descry; And these poor rags ill stand the rage Of such a keen inclement sky. "So faint I am -- these tottering feet No more my feeble frame can bear; My sinking heart forgets to beat, And drifting snows my tomb prepare. "Open your hospitable door: And shield me from the biting blast; Cold, cold it blows across the moor The weary moor that I have pass'd!" With hasty step the farmer ran, And close beside the fire they place The poor half-frozen beggar-man, With shaking limbs and pallid face. The little children flocking came, And warm'd his stiffening hands in theirs; And busily the good old dame A comfortable mess prepares. Their kindness cheer'd his drooping soul; And slowly down his wrinkled cheek The big round tears were seen to roll, And told the thanks he could not speak. The children, too, began to sigh, And all their merry chat was o'er; And yet they felt, they knew not why, More glad than they had done before. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IMANUEL EHRENHARDT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 1. VIETNAM by KAREN SWENSON NOT ONE TO SPARE by ETHEL LYNN BEERS ODE WRITTEN IN [THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR] 1746 by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) TURTLE SOUP by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON WOODNOTES: 2 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON |