A week ago I had a fire, To warm my feet, my hands and face; Cold winds, that never make a friend, Crept in and out of every place. To-day, the fields are rich in grass, And buttercups in thousands grow; I'll show the World where I have been — With gold-dust seen on either shoe. Till to my garden back I come, Where bumble-bees, for hours and hours, Sit on their soft, fat, velvet bums, To wriggle out of hollow flowers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE REAR-GUARD by SIEGFRIED SASSOON SIR JOHN FRANKLIN; ON THE CENTOTAPH IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by ALFRED TENNYSON THE FALL OF JERUSALEM by ALFRED TENNYSON ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS: PART 1: 16. PERSUASION by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH ECHO SONG by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |