IT is a winter's night and cold, The wind is blowing half a gale; I, with a red-hot poker, stir To take the chill off my old ale. I drink my ale, I smoke my pipe, While fire-flames leap to fight the cold; And yet, before my bedtime comes, I must look out on the wide world. And what strange beauty I behold: The wild fast-driven clouds this night Hurled at the moon, whose smiling face Still shines with undiminished light. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JONAS KEENE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS BOOKER T. WASHINGTON by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE GREEK AT CONSTANTINOPLE by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES A SONG TO DAVID by CHRISTOPHER SMART COMPARISON OF LOVE TO A STREAM FALLING FROM THE ALPS by THOMAS WYATT TO A WITHERED ROSE by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF P. BURGESS; A CHILD OF SUPERIOR ENDOWMENTS by BERNARD BARTON TO A BUNCH OF GRAPES; RIPENING IN MY WINDOW by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |