DO you know what it is to be a vagrant born? A waif is only a waif. And so, For another idle hour I sit, In large content while the fire burns low. I gossip here to my crony heart Of the day just over, and count it one Of the royal elemental days, Though its dreams were few and its deeds were none. Outside, the winter; inside, the warmth And a sweet oblivion of turmoil. Why? All for a gentle girlish hand With its warm and lingering good-bye. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTENTMENT, AFTER THE MANNER OF HORACE by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD by THEODORE O'HARA COMFORT IN AFFLICTION by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN PUCK'S SWEETHEART by WILLIAM ROSE BENET A KISS - BY MISTAKE by JOEL BENTON THE RING AND THE BOOK: BOOK 10. THE POPE by ROBERT BROWNING LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK by ROBERT BURNS |