WHEN at each door the ruffian winds Have laid a dying man to groan, And filled the air on winter nights With cries of infants left alone; And every thing that has a bed Will sigh for others that have none: On such a night, when bitter cold, Young Beauty, full of love thoughts sweet, Can redden in her looking-glass; With but one gown on, in bare feet, She from her own reflected charms Can feel the joy of summer's heat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A FRIEND WRITING ON CABARET DANCERS by EZRA POUND THE FAIREST THING IN MORTAL EYES by CHARLES D'ORLEANS SEA GODS: 3 by HILDA DOOLITTLE ROBERT GOULD SHAW by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR NEWS OF THE WORLD: 2 by GEORGE BARKER |