"Now unto yonder wood-pile go, Where toil till I return; And feel how proud a thing it is A livelihood to earn." A saddened look came o'er the tramp; He seemed like one bereft. He stowed away the victuals cold, He -- saw the wood, and left. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUGUST FIRST by HAYDEN CARRUTH FOR OUR BETTER GRACES by JAMES GALVIN TO THE MARTYRED by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A MAN CHILD IS BORN (1809) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS LIKE A BULRUSH by MARIANNE MOORE TO A MAN WORKING HIS WAY THROUGH THE CROWD by MARIANNE MOORE WITH BEST WISHES by DOROTHY PARKER |