Sorley’s Weather

When outside the icy rain
Comes leaping helter-skelter,
Shall I tie my restive brain
Snugly under shelter?

Shall I make a gentle song
Here in my firelit study,
When outside the winds blow strong
And the lanes are muddy?

With old wine and drowsy meats
Am I to fill my belly?
Shall I glutton here with Keats?
Shall I drink with Shelley?

Tobacco’s pleasant, firelight’s good:
Poetry makes both better.
Clay is wet and so is mud,
Winter rains are wetter.

Yet rest there, Shelley, on the sill,
For though the winds come frorely,
I’m away to the rain-blown hill
And the ghost of Sorley.

by Robert Graves

Comments (4)

I used to love spud guns, ...heh dave.......come over here a minute would you...............................Shoosh! ................................................................................................................... i still do,
Eeeehhhhh! ! ! ! What suspense. I think though that the socks will have it. Loved this one. Love Ernestine XXX
Yes David...do tell! ...x
Yes open it, and lets us know. Patricia