He rises from his chair, unkinks his back -- Much harder work to sit and read than plow: The weekly paper read, and almanac -- Goes to the window, peering out, marks how For flakes he scarce can see beyond the pane; Computes their benefit to harvest yields -- Commensurate with snowfall, stands of grain -- Envisions gold in place of silver fields. Returning to the hearth, he banks the fire; Yawns hugely, dumps the white cat in the shed; The kitchen clock strikes ten: time to retire. An hour ago his wife had gone to bed. He lays his lean length by her buxom form, Drifts into slumber, glad the sheets are warm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOEL: CHRISTMAS EVE, 1913 by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE COCK AND THE FOX, OR THE TALE OF THE NUN'S PRIEST by GEOFFREY CHAUCER EVENING by ISABELLA LOCKHART ALDERMAN EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 18. HARD TO BE PLEASED by PHILIP AYRES APRIL by MARY RUSSELL BARTLETT |