All day beneath the bleak, indifferent skies, Broken and blind, a shivering bag of bones, He trudges over icy paving stones, And "Matches! Matches! Matches! Matches!" cries. And now beneath the dismal, dripping night And shadowed by a deeper night, he stands: And yet he holds within his palsied hands Quick fire enough to set his world alight. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR REMEMBERING HOW TO LIVE WITHOUT YOU by JAMES GALVIN THE WAY TO ARCADY by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER OF A BAD SINGER; EPIGRAM by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE OWL CRITIC by JAMES THOMAS FIELDS A LINE-STORM SONG by ROBERT FROST WAPENTAKE; TO ALFRED TENNYSON by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW MY FAMILIAR by JOHN GODFREY SAXE HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 18 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |